Isley: A Progression in Chaos
by GronHatchat
Summary: Pamela Isley, then, now, and will be. Chronologically out of order, Pamela Isley's life is accounted for, showcasing her childhood and teenage years of suffering severe mental illness to the traumatic events that turned her into one of Gotham's most sadistic murderers. My own continuity for Poison Ivy.
1. Chapter 1

"Let's start from the beginning again, and let's not omit the facts that actually matter in this case," Judge Alan Kroker declared, shuffling through the papers to find the seed of the impossible mess. Everywhere in the courtroom, the witnesses shuffled uncomfortably. Kroker had been dragging the case out for what felt like an eternity. He did not seem to want to reach a breaking point for the jury, who were all sitting in their places with dark, irritable expressions.

From the defendant's table, the woman on trial sat comfortably enough, a soft smile on her glistening green lips. She sat with confidence, knowing that she was in her Mother's hands. From the opposing table, Jack Fredericks, lawyer extraordinaire, stood to his feet and exclaimed, "What more is there to discuss!? You have a mountain of evidence, Kroker! Enough is enough!"

Everyone looked at him anxiously. The defendant considered him with a glance. Considered her prey. Kroker looked up, his face flustered, and jabbed a finger in the lawyer's direction, "Sit down and shut up. I'll dictate when enough has been enough." He cast a glance in her direction….and smiled softly. She returned a wink in his favor, puckering her lips and blowing him a kiss.

"Alright…alright, here…yeah…" Kroker shook his head several times, as if trying to get rid of sinuses. As if there were pollen in the air… "Very well, here we are… Pamela Isley, the accused, has been brought here today to face charges of mass murder in the name of experimental mutagen engineering. Accomplice, Professor Jason Woodrue, P.H.D. awardee in Biology and Chemistry, currently missing. Miss Isley…will you take the stand?"

"My pleasure," Pamela Isley replied softly, standing up and taking to the witness stand, escorted by her lawyer, who walked with a dazed expression upon his face. He, too, was shaking his head again and again. The damn pollen… and in winter, no less… Many men in the room could not stray their gaze from Isley's alluring figure. Her black business skirt was less than bagged modesty, a status of meat-based greatness. Her lawyer helped her, hand in hand, into the seating, and Isley stroked his cheek lovingly.

"Miss Isley," Kroker strained to say, his voice jittering. He could not draw his gaze away from her now. Her vibrant, blood red hair. Her glistening forest green lips. She was everything to dream for, everything to have desire for. The perfect woman. "Please tell the court, and this is for record…" Was that annoyance on the old man's face? "…how was your family life? Tell us about growing up."

"Objection," her opponents cried out. "Miss Isley's past has no correlation to-"

"Overruled," Kroker cut across him firmly. He did not take his gaze off of Pamela Isley, who was looking more savagely triumphant as second after second went by. "Now, Miss Isley, forgive him for the interruption… I want to hear you speak."

"And you shall," she replied in an almost suggestive purr. "My childhood…do you want me to tell you that it was fucked up? That mommy and daddy didn't love me? That I'm a victim…?"

"Yes…" Kroker said absentmindedly, sweating profusely. "I want to hear you speak…"

The crowd had begun to murmur. Isley, noticing them and frowning, cleared her throat very loudly and pointedly. The crowd turned their attention on her…

"Sure, I'll tell you all about it," she said. "I'll tell you everything you ever wanted to hear. I'll let you hear my words: the words of Mother Nature. Please note them well, and write outlines… there will be a test at the end of this." She cleared her throat again, becoming confident and graceful in her stance as she crossed her arms upon her lap in a most lady-like manner. "My name is Pamela Isley… although the papers claim otherwise. What is it they've called me, in this morning's _Gotham Gazette_?"

"They've…they've called you P-Poison Ivy," Kroker coughed out, shivering all of a sudden, as if the name itself were tainted. "That's the name you left carved into the- I mean…." He looked around the room nervously. The room was frozen and silent.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Isley answered defiantly. "Poison Ivy… an unworthy name for someone of my personal caliber. I am no vigilante."

"Please continue with your home life, Miss Isley."

"This is not the place!" Frederick's cried. "We're here to convict Isley based on overwhelming evidence of a-"

"Overruled," Kroker announced again. Fredericks looked as if he were about to burst. Isley winked at the flustered lawyer.

"My childhood… my childhood was quite a fine one. Dandy as you could ever imagine. It was filled with laughter and excitement. Family outings every Sunday morning after church… dinners at Palamini's every Friday night… the chicken alfredo was to die for. Dad's fireworks business and the lightshows we used to have on the lake when we delved into inventory… Mom's

weekly baked blueberry cobblers, always cooling off on the windowsill…

_On the windowsill…_

That was where the little kitten had found its way. It must have crawled up the little ramp around the back wall of the garage from the next door neighbor's hedge-walled yard. The ramp connected to the windowsill and led up to a small bird-feeder. Mama had set it up so that the birds could "have their own space, on their own time."

"Come here, little kitty," the towering teenage girl said softly, snatching the black feline into her grasp and dragging her into the dim garage. It clawed at her arms and cut her, but only so slightly, and the pain was of lesser quality to her recognition. The red-haired teenager, ragged looking in her ugly brown skirt and ruffled, dark green blouse gritted her teeth as she held the kitten before her, lightly stroking its little black head, ignoring the blood seeping down from the claw marks on her arms. The kitten meowed loudly and irritably.

"Meooowwww indeed!" Pamela sang, stroking its head more firmly. "What's your name?" the fourteen year old asked the vulnerable little creature. "Hm? You have a name? I do. I have a name. I'll tell you mine, and then you tell me yours, and that's the way it works, okay? Ready? My name is Pamela Lillian Isley. Pam for short. I don't really like Pamela by itself, not without Isley thrown in: Pamela is the name of a librarian or a nurse. Pamela Isley, however, is the name of a scientist. Botanist, really…" She considered the feline, which was still meowing in contempt and trying to break free of her hold. Of course, if it did, it would fall right on down onto the hard concrete floor, and break its fucking little neck. "I say, what's your name, cat? Kitten? What's your name!?" She shook it, a little. "Do you have a name besides "meow?" She shook it again, more violently, and the cat really struggled against her hold now. The blood was seeping down more vigorously now, as the kitten carved up Pamela's skin even more. But the wide-eyed redhead was not having any of its meaning. "I say, what's your name? Can't you talk?"

She stopped shaking it, and considered its own wide eyes, filled with terror. "No…no I suppose you can't…can you? You're just a dumb…animal. A dumb thing. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Dummy! Little dummy! Little idiot! Dummy! That's what your name is, it's Dummy, isn't it? And do you know what happens to little-" She prodded its nose lightly with her fingertip. "-fucking-" She pinched its nose firmly, making its squeal and hiss in pain. "-dummies?"

And she forcibly threw the cat down, with as much strength as she could muster. The feline hit the floor hard, bouncing away and rolling against her father's tool-table. Pamela leapt forward and stamped down upon its head with a bare foot, crushing its skull. She stamped down, again and again, to make sure it was dead. Blood and brains made for a small puddle. Its eyes went missing.

As she destroyed the creature, she breathed raggedly, overwhelmed by the sudden elation of triumph over the dummy….over the mammal…

When she was sure it was nice and dead, the teenager walked casually over to the windowsill where the little dummy had crawled in, and tenderly stroked the Anthuriums growing in the violent pot there…

"Hey there," she whispered lovingly to these orange children. "Mommy got wid of the nasty kitty," she cooed. "Nasty, nasty kitty…"

"Pamela showed severe signs of mental illness at a very early age," Dr. Stefan Mamiste confirmed to Commissioner James Gordon, sitting across from the latter's paper-swarmed desk with a steaming cup of Gotham Joe's Moca-Delight. A profile lay between the two of them, dotted with several photographs of Pamela Isley at different stages in her life. Green eyes piercingly stared from within the photos, as if she were a third of many presences in the room with the two men. "They first cropped up when she ten. Her mother found her torturing grasshoppers in her bedroom at some point; had them soaking in Clorox, she did. At the time, they didn't bring her in because they thought that this was a normal behavior for ten year olds."

"They were kind of right, weren't they?" Gordon noted. "People do insane things at that age. Hell, I remember burning ants like a little psychopath…"

"At age eleven, her parents became very concerned with her collectivity. They found a whole jar of dead bugs in her closet. All killed, it seemed. Some squashed, others poisoned to death in Clorox. Some of them had little pins impaled through their heads. In addition, vines and different strands of ivy were stowed away in almost secretive locations: the family had a house beside a small wooded area on the outskirts of town, and there was quite a variety of wildlife and vegetation there."

"Age eleven would raise concerns. Did they bring her in, then?"

"Her father brought her in, yeah, and that was the first time we met. She was a very shy, very introverted girl, but let me tell you, she had a mind on her. Kid could tell you things about plants you don't learn until high school and college. She was obsessed with them. With flowers and different types of ivy. At the time, of course, none of this really brought up concerns. It was the thing with the bugs that we wanted to talk about."

"And?"

"And she said that she liked killing bugs because the bugs ate grass and other plants, and that the plants did not deserve to be killed in that way, so she killed the bugs in order to protect the plants."

"She _liked_ killing the bugs? Those were her words?"

"Yeah… it took us a while to talk to her, too. Every time I brought up the fact that the insects were a vital part of nature, she would get loud with me. Fussy little thing. Called me a few names that had no business coming out of the mouth of an eleven year old. One session, and her parents never brought her back to me, at least, not for a long while. I don't know if it was because at the time, they thought me incompetent for upsetting her like that or because they genuinely were considering more extreme forms of help than mere therapeutic observation. But I didn't see her for three years after that first meeting. Not until she was brought in with the news that she had brutally stomped a kitten to death in their garage. And…the other thing…" The doctor shuffled uncomfortably.

"Other thing?" Gordon's eyes narrowed. "Stomped a cat…and what else?"

"Well, her folks walked in on her…doing things to herself….with the cat's remains cradled close to her. Have you ever heard of phytophilia, Commissioner?"

"Eco-sexuals, yeah," Gordon nodded uncomfortably, feeling bile build up in his throat at the thought.

"She was using an Easter lily. Had the flower in one hand, had the dead cat forced under the other. Pants pulled down to her ankles. I believe that was the breaking point for them both. They forced her to return back to my observations, adamant on continuous rehabilitation. But by this point, she was completely different person from the eleven year old that I had met three years prior. She was colder, a lot more introverted and when she did speak, it was a very mature form of observation on myself. She mocked the way I dressed and the questions I asked, poking holes in my logic any way she could. She spoke very intelligently. Quite a god-complex she had…"

"You held your ground?"

"I had to. She was the first like that I had ever encountered. I had to keep on her. So I did what I could. Clinically, she displayed various antisocial behaviors. Conduct disorder was a basic frontal charge, but noted were symptoms of oppositional defiant disorder."

"The animal killings were a conduit, you see, to much darker parts of Pamela Isley. We spent a good year with our intense sessions, trying to unlock the seeds of these self-harmful ways."

"And were you successful?" Gordon asked.

"Even without these recent tragedies caused by her, I knew on the day she was officially cleared that I had not been. She eventually adapted to playing along with what she called my "game," telling me things I wanted to hear and putting on a good face of rejuvenation for Mr. and Mrs. Isley. They were fooled. I was not, but they took her off the sessions anyway…"

"And…?"

Stefan sighed. "And…"

"And not a single person cares," Pamela spat at the crying, nine-year old boy, who lay upon the grass, sobbing into the green. Fifteen year old Pamela Isley towered over him menacingly, using the top of his head as a footrest as she forced his face into the grass firmly, causing dirt to enter his mouth. His head lay inches from a fire ant nest. Pamela's face was stricken with fiery rage, her hands trembling uncontrollably. "Do you hear me!? No one cares at all about you. If I were to put your head on that ant pile right now, no one could come running to help you, you little shit, not even as your screams were drowned by the hundreds of ants that would crawl down your fucking throat and eat you from inside!"

"Lemme go!" the little boy cried, banging his fists against the grass. "Let me go!"

"Why should I!?" Pamela screamed, her eyes bulging madly. "WHY!? WHY SHOULD I, YOU LITTLE FUCK!? Did you let those petunias go when you pulled them out of Mother Earth and gave their corpses as a present to that ugly little shit you call a girlfriend!? FATTY MCARLEN, that's her stupid name! SAY IT! CALL HER FATTY MCARLEN!"

"P-p-p-p-p-p-please!" the boy sobbed hysterically, her skin blood red. The ants from the nearby pile were stirring up, investigating the area outside of their hole. "PLEASE!"

"Fatty McArlen doesn't want the corpses of those innocent flowers!" Pamela screamed. "NO, SHE DOESN'T! AND SHE WON'T WANT YOU BY THE TIME I'VE FINISHED FUCKING UP YOUR FACE! YOU DESERVE TO DIE! YOU DESERVE TO SCREAM!"

"STOP IT!" Someone from behind her was suddenly screaming. "PAMELA, STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

Pamela looked around irritably, and saw her fat, ugly mother running up the drive towards her. Behind her, the little boy's own mother, Yosalda, was running, her face stricken with horror at seeing what Pamela was doing to her son. Pamela retracted her foot and sped off, running from the forest nearby, as the little boy's mother dropped hysterically to her knees next to her child. Isabelle Isley, meanwhile, continued after her daughter, but Pamela moved fast, and soon was engulfed in the dark trees… her paradise.

"My God," Gordon spat, disgusted and pale-faced. "She ran off just like that?"

"It was mid-afternoon when that incident happened," Stefan nodded. "Pamela stayed in those woods for most of the day, before the police who were sent in to find her brought her out in the early evening, completely nude and covered in ivy. According to police and official records, she had woven the ivy around herself, spitting at anyone who would listen that "Nature had its place, and everything else was for the sake of worshiping it…" That was the final straw as far as Isley's home-stay was concerned. Mr. and Mrs. Isley disowned her, unable to cope with their daughter's mental instability. She was placed into a special hospital: Coreman's Ridge for Young Adults. Nice institution, treated the young folk who went through there well. Juvenile Detention Centers became invalid for her: she was too unstable. Her parents never came to see her. The family of that little boy sued them something good and the legal matters drove Edward Isley to suicide a year later. One shot to the head."

"Yes, I remember that in the papers. And the mother soon after, right? Overdose."

"Which officially and permanently put Pamela in the state of New York's custody. When that happened, it was a half on half debate as to just what exactly would happen to her from that point on. I took it upon myself to follow her, you see. Coreman's Ridge had been offering me a position for a year at that point. I had a friend in the higher administrative departments. I finally succumbed to their offer when I learned that Pamela had been transferred there: I had worked with her and seen what she was, what she could do mentally, and I felt an obligation to continue her treatments personally."

"Which they allowed?"

Stefan nodded.

"Why does it have to be you?" Pamela demanded, bundling herself into a sheet-based cocoon upon her queen size. Dr. Stefan sat across from the bed in a dark green recliner (_her fucking dark green recliner, the disgusting little man!) _and tapped away onto his silver laptop, pushing his glasses up his nose every few seconds. The man was nervous and was sweating a little. "I don't want you! I don't want it to be you! I don't need your help, Stefan. You never did me any good. I'm a danger to society, see?" She threw her arms around the room, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "They locked me up, safe and sound. Nature's enemies are safe from Her bounty hunter."

"Pamela, let's talk about what's happened recently," Stefan cut through firmly. "You've been in this institution for a year now. Your mother and father are both gone. Your name has been utterly tarnished and right now, your entire future is hinging on improvement, Pamela. Do you want to walk out of this place when you turn eighteen? Do you want the chance to live a life filled with your dreams, Pamela?"

"My dreams have already come true, doctor," she hissed back, her expression dark and knowing. She fell onto her back, still wrapped in her cocoon, and gazed lovingly at the ceiling. "I have already been set free."

Stefan typed something quickly, and nodded. "Go on."

"Their deaths marked the start of it," she whispered. "It was Natural that mother and father… no… Isabelle and Edward put themselves to death. They defied Nature for too long. They broke its Laws, and placed Her bounty hunter inside of a prison of white walls." She shuffled to look over at him. "I'm glad they're dead."

Stefan exhaled deeply, finished typing his notes, and then set the laptop to record. He then set the device down upon the floor and studied her more intently.

"Why be glad that your mother and father are dead? They raised you, kept you clothed and fed and allowed you to continue your education, Pamela. They never stopped loving you. Merely lost to their human limits, as we all do."

"Not me. I have no _human_ limits. You have to be human first."

Stefan shook his head. "You _are_ human, Pamela. And accepting that fact, as well as the laws and obligations that come with that status, will be the first step to recovery."

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" she yawned pleasantly, turning away from him. "You've had enough practice doing so to me and all your other patients. Give yourself the same justice."

"Would you have killed them, Pamela?" Stefan asked quietly. "Would you have killed your parents if they hadn't killed themselves?"

"How could I possibly kill my own parents?" Pamela snapped irritably. "I'm locked up in here. The gate outside and locked and watched by two guard towers. I wouldn't have been able to get close enough to kill them."

"What if you had never been put in here? What about then? What if you stood over them as they slept, with a butcher's knife in hand? Stab them both to death? Slit their throats?"

"If I wanted to kill anyone," she said quietly, "no one would ever know I had ever been there. Trust me…"

"These were the words of the late Dr. Stefan Mamiste, according to official records found within the man's home-based archives," Fredericks announced to the assembled court, after the recording stopped playing. "At this point, Pamela Isley was in no position to rejoin society. This evidence suggests premeditation for the spree of violent and seditious activities performed in the name of Pamela's supposed monotheism, her worship for the environment. Her mental stability was far from rational, far from safe for the ranks of the common good."

"I had such a cute voice at that age," Pamela called out, looking excited. "Hot little triker I was, let me tell you."

Kroker and many more people in the audience began to laugh at that. Many laughed with dazed expressions…with glossed over eyes… and raging sinuses. The pollen, man…the pollen…

"This evidence suggests that Pamela Isley would have murdered-"

"Overruled," Kroker snorted, still not able to draw his gaze away from Pamela Isley.

"You cannot-" Fredericks objected, but Kroker shouted again, "Overruled! Overruled! Overruled! Please, Pamela, continue-"

"You can't just-"

"ENOUGH!" Kroker roared, standing to his feet now. "Enough, enough, enough! Recess! Half an hour! Court will convene at two p.m."

"That's not how this works, Your Honor!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"What the hell is up with this judge!?"

"Leave him alone! He's doing his job well!"

"Set her free! SET HER FREE RIGHT NOW!"

The crowd was getting crazier. Nothing made sense anymore. Disorder, chaos revealed, unlike any other. And all the while, as the audience frenzied and the judge verbally returned fire, Pamela Isley sat calmly, in confidence, and kept her charming smile lit in favor of Frederick's, surveying him intently with deep calculation. Frederick's, blood red in the face now, kicked his table furiously and swore.

"Too bad for you," she whispered to herself. She turned to Kroker. "Dear… do you want to see me free?" She reached up and touched his face tenderly. The judge crumpled hard, grasping at her arm, breathing wildly.

"_Yes_!" he hissed, throughout the wild commotion of the assembled crowd.

"Then set me free."

"Yes…yes…yes I will, yes…" He looked wildly around the room. "Bailiff!" The heavy-set, balding man standing near one of the exit doors looked around and saw Kroker motioning for him. "Come, come…" The bailiff, confused and frowning, slowly began to make his way towards the judge. Fredericks, meanwhile, had his back turned and was screaming at the crowd to see sense.

"Bring him to me," Pamela commanded Kroker, stroking her black gloves together upon her lap.

"Yes…" the dazed judge obeyed. When the bailiff arrived, Kroker nodded at Pamela. "See to her."

"Sir?"

"We're going to get her out of here," Kroker said slowly. The bailiff nodded, and stepped toward Pamela. As he did, she reached out with one of her gloved hands and casually brushed it down his face. The bailiff stumbled in his advance, coming to a halt, his eyes suddenly glossing over, his expression becoming dumb and disoriented.

"Whaaa…?" he breathed, struggling to stay upright.

"Bailiff," Pamela whispered, motioning with a finger. "Please, come here. I want you to take me by the hand and escort me out. Now."

"Whaa..I…yes…" His piercing gaze upon her facial features became evident, as he moved forward, zombie-like, and helped her out of the booth. He took her and, hand in hand, began to lead her from the room, leaving her lawyer looking dumbfounded and nevertheless entranced as he and Kroker began to follow closely behind. By now, Fredericks was noticing what was happening, and he was turned to face them.

"Hey! You can't just take her out of the room! We're still in session!"

Pamela stopped walking, and the bailiff, Kroker and her lawyer followed suit. Her head was bent low, her eyes closed. All around the room, chaos was in effect. One half of the room was shouting for her release. The other…no…no it was less than half for the other…they demanded the trial continue.

Pamela Isley turned back to face Fredericks, her expression cold, but her smile evident.

"Are you sure you want me to stay, Fredericks?" she asked, unbuttoning the top button of her blouse. "Are you wanting me, is that it?"

"Is that it, then?" Pamela asked Nurse Killinger, standing on the threshold of Coreman's Bridge with three suitcases surrounding her. She was dressed in a light green blouse, pattern designed with stitched vines, and a flowery, silky black skirt. Her ballet flats were jade in color, her hair pulled into a finely groomed ponytail, all courtesy of Killinger's efforts for what the elderly woman considered a most joyous day. "Are you wanting me gone, then?"

"Oh, Pammy," the old crone sighed, placing a tender, wrinkled hand upon the eighteen year old's shoulder. "You're going to do just fine. Just fine. The board knew what they were doing. Should have let you out a year ago, I think, put you with a nice, rich family… but you're going to be just fine. You've done so well in the last two years. I'm so proud of you, baby girl. And when you step through those iron gates today, Pammy, I want you to remember what you accomplished."

"Gotham University…" Pamela smiled as she said it. "Yes… I suppose I should personally write thank you cards to all of you for this."

"That would be nice, child. Let the board know that you appreciate just how much money they poured into giving you a fresh start. Gotham University's a pretty difficult school to get into, let me tell you. But you're probably the smartest girl I've ever known to come through here, I want you to know that. You're a genius, Pammy. You could do anything you want…or anyone, right, sugar?" The old lady chuckled heartedly and gave Pamela a small nudge on the side. Pamela's mouth twitched. Was it a smile trying and failing miserably to form? "You're a real beaut, alright. I never see girls with a shade of red hair quite like what you got going for you now, Pammy. You're gonna knock all them boys dead."

"Imagine that," Pamela commented casually.

"You will, sugar, you just wait and see. Brains like yours and looks to match… you'll go far. And you've really improved, baby girl. Really improved. In two days, you're gonna be starting one of the finest schools in the world. And you won't have to worry about that nasty lawsuit from the Mendez's, either. Chairman Jacquez has a lot of confidence in you, paying off that family the way he did. You know, maybe you should give them a visit, hun. Show them just how much you've improved."

"Yeah…yeah maybe I'll do just that…"

"Don't let anyone take advantage of you, though, baby girl. And don't let them bullies take bites. You aint done nothing wrong, okay. The past ended one second ago. As far as I and the rest of the world should be concerned, your past aint never happened. What kind of classes you got lined up for your first semester?"

"Basic required gen-eds. Humanities, Physical Science, Art Appreciation and American History from 1865… all useless… except for Physical Science…"

"Of course, baby girl, that's your special skill, aint it? You've wrapped my brain for a whistle and tistle, let me tell you hun, with all of your brain power. Aint never seen a girl as talented as you in this place, let me tell you, sugar. You gone go and get you a college degree and cure cancer. I want you to remember, baby girl, that the people who were considered the worst ended up being the ones on top. You don't let anyone ever tell you that you're a bad girl, do you got that? You don't let anyone ever tell you that you deserve to fail. You go and kick all of their asses, and kick them hard, okay, Pammy?"

Pamela really did smile now, because she knew that Killinger was right. She was going to come out on top. She was going to overwhelm her inferiors, one by one. Gotham University would be the grounds for which she would become idolized for her superior brain power. The lesser mortals would all be shunned and forgotten when GU saw her intellectual capabilities. She thus turned around and threw her arms around the African American elder who had been the closest thing to "mother" in this dreaded place. Killinger understood her passions and encouraged them. Human though she was…. and therefore inferior as she was, she understood. Killinger chuckled and patted her on the back tenderly.

"You're gonna be fine, sugar," she whispered into Pamela's ear. "You're gonna be fine, Pammy."

"Yvonne Killinger was found poisoned to death in her bedroom, wasn't she?" Gordon muttered to himself, shuffling through the papers on his desk. "Traces of…something, I can't remember-"

"Castor oil," the darkness of the corner of the room growled lowly. "Ricin traces."

"Yes, that's it," Gordon noted, not looking around. Dr. Stefan, however, jumped out of his skin, looking around the dark room frantically, peering intently at the black corner where the voice had come from. Gordon looked up at him apologetically, his beard twitching into a smile.

"Sorry, Dr. Mamiste. He does that. I've been asking him to use the front door, but he isn't one for taking my orders."

The darkness built up a solid form as the creature stepped into the light.

"My God…" Stefan gasped, jumping to his feet. "It's…it's _you_."

"Stefan, Batman. Batman, Dr. Stefan Mamiste."

Cloaked in black, cowled in dark, pointy eared helmetry, Stefan felt coldness wash over him at the sight of the Batman. Never had the man dreamed that he would actually meet Gotham's most celebrated lawbreaker.

"It's an honor," Stefan breathed, actually reaching out a hand. The Dark Knight, nodding, accepted the handshake and then moved around the room.

"I've been wanting to meet you for a while now, Dr. Stefan," he growled lowly, his head bent as he half-circled the man in his impressive armor. "You saw to Pamela Isley throughout her teen years. You acted as her personal psychiatrist."

"You were listening well enough," Stefan said, nodding. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. I need to know something specific from you: Did she ever have a particular run-away spot? Somewhere she went in Gotham when she wanted to be alone, maybe?"

"No," Stefan replied firmly, shaking his head. "No, no, we never let them just wander off into the city alone. Not unless they escaped, and she never did. At least, not that we were ever aware of. There are periods of time when we shut off cameras and let them have some isolation, but we monitored all patients continuously. State orders. Ed Coch would never allow it. All of her schooling was done at the hospital. Coreman's Ridge hires special tutors to come in and administrate educational programs for the patients."

"She never was allowed to leave the institution?" Batman pressed.

"Well, n- yes, she was, occasionally. I mean, it was a place of healing. We couldn't just keep them cooped up all day. No, she was allowed to go into the city a few times a week, but never alone. She had a nurse attached to her constantly. Nurse Killinger formed a strong relationship with Pamela Isley over the girl's two years at the Ridge. She sympathized with Pamela and treated her like one of her own. Of course, she had experience: Killinger had seven kids at home, all fosters. She was the woman who always took in the unwanted ones. Heart of an angel. And Pamela reacted well to her. I'd say that in a world where Pamela did not want friends, Yvonne was probably the only one."

"So the two of them would go into Gotham every week?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they'd go out for ice cream, or to see a movie at the Monarch… Yvonne was always buying her new clothes and she almost always came back with at least two or three new books on botany… And we see improvement in her. We saw change. That change was our goal, and through her interactions with Yvonne, it seemed to be going in the direction that it needed to go. Yvonne reported outbursts at times, but nothing we weren't used to."

"Are you sure they didn't go other places?" Batman suggested, leaning against the left wall now and bowing his head as if in prayer. He was fiddling around with something small in his hands that seemed to be emitting a faint green light.

"What kinds of places would they have gone to, exactly?" Gordon wondered aloud.

"Secret places. Places that Yvonne may have kept secret, if in Isley's trust."

"No. No, Yvonne always told us everything that done during those outings."

"And you never suspected her of lying at any point?" Batman asked. Stefan looked flustered.

"N-no, of course not. Why would she? Yvonne knew what Pamela was. He knew what she was capable of and she was always on high alert. Why would she lie about anything?"

"I need to find out for sure," Batman replied, finishing with his tapping. The faint green light went out, and the Dark Knight stepped forward. "I need to know about the possibility of special places for Pamela Isley. We've got to track her down."

"Yvonne Killinger is dead," Stefan said, exasperated. "She was murdered. Murdered by Pamela Isley, we know this. She can't talk anymore."

"The dead have more ways of talking than just using their mouths," said Batman, coming up to the window of Gordon's office. Gordon nodded.

"He'll find out, trust me. He's good at finding the invisible."

"I'll be in touch, Dr. Mamiste. Keep your phone on." And just like that, the Dark Knight leapt into the darkness of the night through the open windows, wings expanding as the air took him as its own. Stefan sat, dumbfounded and unsure as to what there was to say. Gordon, meanwhile, saw that his coffee had drained, and went to fetch some more from the pot, swiping Stefan's mug with him.

"Batman's going to be calling you soon," he told Stefan. "He's always quick on the job. Trust me. He'll know what to do."

"And what could he find out from Yvonne Killinger if she's dead?"

Gordon chuckled. "My friend, the dead know better than to keep secrets from Batman. Trust me."


	2. Chapter 2

(_to all who want to know about "Pamela's Vengeance: Poisonous Pursuit 2"- since I cannot reply to GUEST reviews, I am writing this here. Try to make profiles, those Guests of you who want to ask questions: I haven't fully given it up yet. It's just been a VERY busy semester. But the summer comes, and with it, opportunity. However, I will pound away at this one for now. In addition, I invite you to check out my Deviantart profile, where I am currently illustrating THIS story. CAUTION: SPOILERS in the drawings for things that will happen in this story here. Feel free to check them out and tell me what you think: ) _

"Do I want you?" Fredericks gasped, looking repulsed and backing away. The crowd around them had begun to silence down now, hearing Pamela Isley speaking. Pamela smiled and walked forward, holding up one finger pointedly.

"Let me spin you a spider's tale," she said slowly, "of lies and passion sweet, that in the end, re-life began, fueled by toxic deceit."

"Bailiff, restrain her!" Fredericks cried, backing into his table as she approached. She stopped, however, and turned to face the bailiff, brushing her gloved hand across the man's mouth and nose again, before resting it on his cheek and saying, "Restrain me? Is that what you want to do to me, bailiff?"

The bailiff's eyes went wide and intensified in their glossiness. He began to drool, his expression vacant. His erection was quite obvious. The man did not move, merely stood and descended into statue-worthy vigilance. Pamela turned back to Fredericks.

"He's not doing anything," she noted, sounding concerned.

"I love you," the bailiff moaned from behind, drooling heavy amounts of saliva now. His hand, shaking hard, stroked her hair longingly. Pamela's confidence was fiery on her face. "God, I love you… God I love you…"

"Anyone else?" Pamela cried out to the audience. "Anyone else here love me?"

There came almost an instant outcry from more than half of the people assembled in the crowd. Men and women alike were proclaiming their love for Pamela Isley. Fredericks was looking more horrified by each passing second. Judge Kroker had fallen to his knees before her, hissing his own desires.

"Please escort me out of the room, now," Pamela told both he and the bailiff, still grinning at Fredericks. "I believe the judge had made his decision."

From the jury stand, those bound by duty and civil service were ogling her, crying out her name. All of them were sniffling as they did so. All of them were sneezing, here and there. The pollen in this room was ridiculous…

Kroker and the bailiff escorted her away. Fredericks, however, took charge and followed them out of the side door, into the west hall.

"Now, listen!" he almost screamed as the doors to the courtroom behind him slammed shut. "Kroker, I don't know what the hell your game is, but enough is enough! We're in the middle of a legal precedence that-"

"Of?" Pamela turned around, as did the bailiff and Kroker, who both looked completely out of their minds. "Of?" she repeated, stepping forward and looking up at the red-faced man. Fredericks did not back down.

"What have you done to them?" the lawyer demanded, prodding her in the neck with a finger. She looked down at his finger for a second, raising an eyebrow.

"Get your hands off of me," she warned calmly. He did not relent, and instead grabbed a fistful of her shirt and yanked her forward.

"I'll deal with you myself if I have to," he spat in her face. Pamela, however, had other ideas.

"Bailiff…Kroker… will you obey me? Will you worship me and do as I command?"

"Yes!" the bailiff hissed ravenously.

"I love you…" Kroker said dumbly. Pamela grinned.

"Very well… then pin him down now."

"What the hell are you-" But Fredericks was suddenly flying backwards as the bailiff and Kroker both rammed at him, forcing him down from either side onto the floor. Fredericks struggled, confused and evidently frightened, as either man pinned down one of his arms. Pamela, meanwhile, raised one foot and brought down one of her long, black heels down onto Frederick's left arm.

The stiletto went through the suit and Fredericks let out a scream, which was silenced as quickly as it had issued. She withdrew her foot, smiling in satisfaction, and saw Frederick's eyes droop, and his mouth sag.

"Sleep for a bit," she whispered. And as she did, the powerful anesthetic laced upon her heels took effect, and Fredericks went out like a candle being extinguished.

Into darkness he went, and sailed into cold sleep…

_Sleep was hard, back then. _

Every time she tried to adjust to these hard, almost stone-like twin-sized alters, she would inevitably roll on a bad side and jerk awake. Coreman's beds had at least been reinforced with all manner of padding and leisurely quality. And the bed that she had slept in before that, back at home with her parents… it had been a water bed. _A fucking water bed_. But no… no, these beds weren't beds at all: they were stone pyres. They were hell on the back.

That first night, Pamela Isley did not sleep. Instead, she drifted like a ghost about the dark, abandoned campus grounds and explored her new kingdom. Morris Hall centralized the kingdom, where the poets and prose-pipers gathered for their analysis of who fucked who and why they did it. Across from that, the Thomas J. Wayne Memorial Library with its pillars of white towered with its Latin, engraved command: _Sapere Aude (_"Dare to be Wise"). Krimley Science Institute stood beside McLain Fine Arts, and the Timothy B.W. Burton Student Union curved around to the further reaches of campus, its mighty glassy windows inviting late-night wanderers for games of pool, secret spots for fucking and open opportunities to break into the campus cafeteria and raid the storeroom.

All of these small details she analyzed, coming to terms that this was real….this was happening. For the first time in her life, her genius had been recognized. She was in her paradise, her Eden. Gotham University would allow her to be known. People would see her genius, understand that she was the future of environmentalism, and, as per due, award her with the funding and influence she needed to start educating the rest of humanity on the preservation of Mother Earth. She would be beyond respected, and little by little, would encourage both students and faculty to put Mother Earth first. Gotham University needed her brilliance.

This was the dream. But the dream would require hard work and intensive study. She would put her past behind her, as Killinger and others had, and concentrate on making for herself a future. This place was real. This now was real.

When she made her way to the furthest edges of the campus, near the Hallow Forest, a spanning wood-world on the southern border of Gotham City where the campus situated, she haunted the biology grounds, her future castle of exploration set atop a hill, tall chimney stacks even now billowing out pollution from the interior workings. She would have to fix that. She would have to petition better means of fuel usage.

Near this building, she found it. _It_. Her true kingdom, a domain worthy of her own. Gotham University Botanical Garden was sizable enough, a thriving, englassed world of rainbow foliage, gargantuan buddings and a fine, green lagoon teeming with frogs and lilies. She could hear them in there, singing their nightly chorus. _"Ribbit, ribbit, we are frogs, Ribbit, Ribbit, we're not dogs, Ribbit, Ribbit, we like green, Ribbit, Ribbit, we're so mean!" _

She worked her way around this crystalline palace and found the cobblestone path to the iron doors. Locked, they were, as to be expected… she would have to remedy that. This world within must be experienced by any hour of time's continuation. The nightly wanderers must pay Nature its due. A petition to come…a petition to come.

She did not return to her dormitory home that night. She stayed awake, lying in the deep shade of the greenhouse and meditating with the environment around her, smelling the dew-stricken grass and the flowers around her. Tomorrow, her classes began, and with it, the social obligations that came with these institutes of knowledge.

She was ready to make them see ingenuity.

Throughout the night, she casually cast glances over to the dark woods of Hallow. Inside of those dark canopies, those towers of trees and creature comforts, an entire world awaited exploration. Nature's abundance. She would have to explore that place, and soon.

It was Nature calling…

_Nature was calling. _She called his name, here and there. "Fredericks," sang one windly breath. "Fredericks," called another passionate sigh. Words failed her, of course, where an injection of the toxin's remedy did not. Injected, then, was the solution to his unconsciousness, and Fredericks awoke with a start.

His world had transformed. Gone were the redwood walls of the Gotham Hall of Justice. Gone were the polished tiles of porcelain floor. Here, there was only…_green_. Green brickwork by its mass of moss covering. The floor was not floor, but _ground_, muddy and swamp-like. A lagoon below him. He, above it, bound, he, in a frenzied, stroke-worthy shock, to what felt like hard bark against the back, thick, green vines his binding. Thick vines against nudity. He was nude. His clothes…where had they gone?

All around him, ivy and vine dominated a black ceiling. Light green light illuminated the room, but its source…it had no visible source…unless the plants themselves were somehow emitting the light. The lagoon below him bubbled green and smelled something foul, like unwashed sandals after long-term water submergence.

_My God…it must be toxic. _This was his first thought, and all too true it was. He could barely move his head, but even so, he felt the presence above him. Fredericks strained his eyes as best as he could. And as if to answer his ocular summoning, down it came, answering his silent call (unwanted though it was).

Was it a plant, or an animal? More so, to his observation, it was both. A fly-trap? That was what it looked like. Its massive, elephantine body lowered itself down from the dark ceiling and came to rest before him. Forest green and textured like sugarcane, the giant bod burst open, splitting into four different ways of green oval. Inside, there she sat, and so did Kroker and the bailiff on either side. But all three had taken a change for wardrobe.

All three were nude, like him. However, unlike Kroker and the bailiff, she had adorned her limbs in thick clumps of poison ivy. Pink and green flowers adorned her flaming red hair, and bound around both ankles and wrists were black, thorn-like circlets, each thorn tipped with red. Her hair was wild and messy, and she looked bitterly content with her current view. Kroker and the bailiff, meanwhile, were ogled beyond sanity, their heads swaying to and fro, drool positively pouring out of drooping mouths. Both of them had a new addition, too: crimson, thick thorns, which seemed to be stabbed into the sides of their heads.

"Tell me something," Pamela whispered, throwing her arms around the two lobotomized vegetables, "what does your view look like? Please describe to me, in detail, everything you see."

Fredericks was on the verge of tears. They threatened to come like the rapids north of the Hallow. He could already feel the first trickles of fear bleeding from the ducts. Summoning the courage that his father had always tried to install within him, the little boy inside said, "I see a situation that I believe must be evaded, at all costs. That is what I see. Please, Isley, whatever you're-"

"That is not what you see," she corrected him, shaking her head. "I am disappointed in your answer. Test question number one…failed." And in one swift movement, her hands cupped either cheek of the bailiff, and she pulled him into a ravenous, passionate kiss, her green lips engulfing his orangey-red in wave-like potions. She held him there for a moment, and then released him. The bailiff went stone still, his eyes rolling into the back of his heads, and he let out the most horrible, guttural choking sound before toppling over on his side, empty eyes staring forward at the horrified Fredericks. His veins bulged out at once, all over his body, and they had all turned a sickly, nauseating green. The man was stone dead.

Even as Fredericks strove to find the strength to scream, Pamela casually prodded the man's corpse with one foot and pushed him away. Over the edge of the giant fly trap and down he went, landing face first into the poisonous lagoon below, where vines broke through the surface at once and, entwining the body, drug him down into the depths. He was gone as quickly as he had landed.

Pamela concentrated more firmly on Fredericks now, nuzzling Kroker against her bare breasts, her expression cold and waiting. Kroker drooled over her chest and lay there, still as can be, barely blinking, his eyes occasionally moving around. Waving a disappointed finger at Fredericks, Pamela said, "I'll give you one more chance. You failed the first question, but there's two on this quiz. So maybe you can get…fifty percent?" She raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "I doubt it, though. So, Fredericks, here it is… your final question: Who am I?"

"Who…who are you!?" Fredericks sputtered out, his eyes widening as he beheld her in disbelief and torment. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to break through these vines that held him naked against this tree and cut her…tear and rip her… She had murdered that bailiff. Just murdered him, and done so with an almost inhuman enjoyment. She had disposed of an innocent man's life with such…_ease_. "You're crazy!" he panicked, his mouth trembling. "Pamela Isley, you're insane!"

Pamela glowered darkly. "Pamela Isley? Is that really your answer? Fuck me, you're a moron. You…you disgust me with your ignorance, Fredericks…you really do. That is not my name. I am displeased with your answer." And for the second time (and this time, Fredericks managed to scream, pleading with the murderer to no avail), she forced her deadly, poisonous kiss against Judge Kroker, and Fredericks watched in horror as the man too succumbed to the deadly poison and was too pushed by Isley into the lagoon below, where, like the bailiff, he was taken down into its bubbling depths.

Pamela watched him scream, studying him intently. He, her specimen. Sprawling on her side, she stroked the plant she sat within tenderly, lovingly, and whispered to it, "Come to me." And come it did. Vines ascended from the waters below, the same vines that had torn down her two victims, and bore down upon her, entwining arms and legs. As if by her puppetry, she was pulled into the air and flung forward, where she descended down upon him and, sensually, entwined he with her legs, throwing her arms around his neck, he hers. Frederick's heart stopped, for now he would surely die. Now, he would surely taste that poisonous kiss himself. This was the end…

"I want to tell you a story," she whispered, brushing his hair tenderly with his ivy laden hand. "And we have all the time in the world. I want to answer, you see, your two questions for you, as you failed the test. You need to understand not only the answers themselves, but the life of the answers. I can help you understand. I can help you know me, like no other. Sound good?"

"Why?" He was not sure why he said it. The word just seemed to…leap out of him? She grinned, and prodded his nose playfully.

"The answer to the first question," she said, "was 'I see Eden, and I see Mother Nature, its goddess.' The answer to the second question was 'Poison Ivy.' I would have also accepted, again, 'Mother Nature… Eden… Eve… Gaia… But Poison Ivy is special to me. It's a special me, bitter and disastrous. That is what I am, what I wish to be. I want to educate you, Fredericks, before I send you down to join Kroker and what's-his-face. I want you to know why you should have seen Eden…and why I should always be referred to as 'Poison Ivy' and never 'Pamela Isley.' Syntax and semantics, Fredericks…as a lawyer, you should have more respect for these concepts. Let the lecture begin, then. I'll tell you everything, lover…"

_God help me_, Fredericks dared to pray within, sobbing now. _Please, God, help me… _

"God?" Pamela repeated, pushing away the young man's brochure in disgust. The representative to the Gotham University Baptist Collegiate Ministries stepped backwards, looking shocked at her sudden, violent reaction. "You advertise for Mother Earth, then? You advertise for Gaia?" She knew better, of course, but she wanted to force her severity with a question.

"N-no," the man stammered, blushing deeply. "I just wanted to invite you to our Bible study this Friday night. We want everyone to come and hang out, and I just wanted-"

"Want, want, want, want, want, want, want," Pamela mocked continuously, shoving him roughly aside with her arm that held no books. "We all want, don't we?" she told him in passing. "Figure out what you really want, Bible Boy, and return to me when you do." And she left him, stricken and offended, passing into the sunlight plaza out the student union doors. Her second class, Humanities 1, awaited on the third floor of Morris Hall. The nerve of such a man, to offer the fucketries of irrationality, or so she saw it. Offended, she was, by his nerve to dare accuse her of worshipping anyone save for the goddess, for Mother Earth… _For myself. _

People eyed her funnily as she haughtily passed by, her arms filled with every book needed for the day's classes (she had awoken late, lying in the field beside the greenhouse, and had had no time to situate her books into her bag). Already she had missed her very first class because of this. The thought of missing Physical Science on the first day stunned her horribly. Mother Earth could not be pleased with her negligence.

Morris Hall was a soul-dampening climb up two sets of wide stairs, all the while bustling students, mostly majors of English, side-swiping her in their hurries for their useless literary classes. One of them, a burly, curly haired beard in glasses tripped over her long green skirt and forced her, unwantedly, against a pillar atop the third floor.

"Sorry!" the stupid shorts wearing, blue-eyed giant begged of her, though he kept advancing her for his class without stopping.

_Fucker_, she hissed irritably in her head. Imaging the man lying in a bloody heap in the middle of the Hallow woods, she continued onward, slipping into her classroom with five minutes to spare, which was already overcrowded with at least fifteen other imbeciles.

_Baaaaah! _she sheeped within. _Baaaahh! _

A desk at the very back of the classroom. Perfection. In front of it, a wily haired man in thin glasses, who lay asleep at his desk, an empty can of Demon Energy Drink beside his head. She made sure to forcibly shove him as she passed, jerking him wildly out of his deep stupor. She shook her head even as she turned around to stare at her, and pointedly said, "Sleeping in class leads to failure. Do you want to be failure?"

And she opened her Physical Science textbook to shield away both the image of him cursing at her and the visual reminder that he existed. A young woman sitting to her right turned in her chair and noted her book, and the expression that came with its reading.

"What's up?" she whispered, throwing out a half-hearted wave of greeting. Pamela noted her briefly with a glance. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Perfect body, fine tan skin. Contrasted to her crimson hair, foggy green eyes and pale skin. It was obvious who was more beautiful. _Me_.

"What's up yourself?" Pamela shot back, ensuring that she sounded like a total bitch. The other woman, however, smiled at her attitude, and leaned back comfortably enough.

"Alissa Jagner," she introduced. "You're a freshman?"

"First day ever," Pamela replied in a bored voice, intensifying her skim of the book. Alissa nodded.

"This is my second semester. What's your name?"

"Pamela," Pamela replied shortly.

"Do you have a last name?"

"Isley. Would you like to know my social security number next, Alissa Jagner?"

"Hell yeah!" Alissa said excitedly, pulling a sheet of paper towards her and preparing her feathery blue pen. "Give me the first three digits."

Pamela looked around now, wide-eyed. Alissa snorted aloud, causing snoozing uncarers to jump up and look around. "I'll take your social and debit pin, if you have it, Pamela Isley."

Pamela was not sure what to say, or how to react. Was this what the common folk called 'humor?' If so, then what was she expected to say? How was she expected to react? This Alissa was beyond charming, beautiful and alluring to the eye of many in this classroom who even now shot sneaky glances at her long, smooth-skinned legs. She was an athlete, Pamela noted, based on the gym shorts, long white socks and black cleats that she wore. Not to mention one of those ugly, furry headbands around her golden hair.

"You like sports?" she asked the woman, awkwardly. Alissa grinned broadly, nodding at once.

"Intramural basketball star, I'll have you know. A little softball, here and there. Nothing official, of course. Stick to one team and you never get to play anything else." _I'll say,_ Pamela hissed mentally, _she already smells like a sweaty gym sock without adding to my troubles._ Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Pamela forced a smile and held out a hand.

"Well, then, I hope to play against you some day." She was not sure why she said it. But she had to say it. It was destiny that she say it. Alissa, looking ecstatic, shook her hand excitedly and replied, "Well, the first day is always the most important. So you better get ready. I want a match tonight."

"How about we spend a few days preparing?" Pamela suggested shortly. "I need time to learn how to properly kick your ass, Alissa Jagner."

Alissa smirked, stunned and fascinated with this red-headed bitch. She lightly punched Pamela on the arm (who immediately conjured a fantasy of decapitation in the girl's favor) and spun around in her seat, saying, "I'll shoot you a contact number after class. I'm gonna hold you to it."

At that moment, all funnetries and comquazits had to be ceased, as the instructor for the class walked in, handbag swinging in tow. Curly haired, aging and prominently cheek boned beneath square-framed glasses, Randall Prouse threw up a hand to them all, and said in a quiet, slow voice, "Good morning. Happy first day back, eh?" He gave a nervous, quiet laugh. As he set up books and folders atop the speaking desk, Pamela observed him carefully. It looked like a gentle breeze of wind could blow him away. He was an awkward, quiet man.

The entire class waited patiently (and unconsciously, for some) as the man wrote his name upon the board, until there was no doubt within the entirety of Creation that he was Randall Prouse.

"Welcome to Humanities 1. I'm really happy to see that a lot of you were brave enough to venture into this class so early in your academic career. Most of you are freshman, and I think we have a senior in here, right, Carl?" He nodded at one man in particular, who was drooling in his sleep. "Nobody wake Carl up, right?" Prouse winked at them all. "Now, I'm not going to scare any of you with-" _WHACK!_ Out of nowhere, he slammed one of his hard textbooks into the table before him, and Carl awoke with a violent jolt. Smiling mischievously, Prouse continued, "-thing particularly horrid for the first day back in the joint. I want to go over the basic syllabus in class, but I also want to pose each of you a question, and I hope you'll be willing to give me what you believe is a satisfying answer. Alright?"

And so it began. Attendance policies: Miss more than three and your grade gets hit in the knee. Special accommodations: If you're cripple, don't start a ripple, just give Student Life a shout and they'll throw your troubles out! Semester activities: Let me lay you down a beat, and give you three tasty treats, there's two essays, both the same, and the final book project won't be so lame (?) Everything that Prouse said, Pamela expected.

When the man had gone over everything, he came to a halt, looked around the room, and then said to them all, "Tell me something, and I want an answer from each of you: in the study of human culture, what, to you, is the most important element to understanding why we, as humans, must preserve our cultural evolutions?" He finished speaking, closed his eyes for a moment, and then sat patiently atop his desk, awaiting them to speak.

The entire class sat in silence, stunned by such a profound insight demand on the first day of the semester. Well, almost. One person spoke up, and did so directly and firmly.

"Can't you challenge us a bit more than that?" Pamela demanded, setting her syllabus down. "Why ask us about the importance of preserving cultural evolutions? The point of evolution is that perseverance is outdated, and has no true purpose in the grand scale of things. Evolution dictates that change is inevitable, and thus we must not waste time trying to stall it. Why not ask, instead, as to why it is important to evolve our culture, and to keep them within contemporary respects until change comes calling again, inevitable as it is?"

She took a breath, now, and sat back in her chair, smiling confidently. The entire class was staring at her, dumbfounded, mouths agape. Prouse, meanwhile, shifted to hide his obvious erection.

"W-w-well spoken!" The man was breathless and excited. "What is your name?"

"Pamela Isley, sir."

Alissa was shaking with utter glee, looking at Pamela with the strongest of lightly glints in her dazzled eyes. She shot up her hand at once, and promptly said, "Evolution is a natural calling, like Pam here says! We have to change depending on what makes society grow stronger. Right?" She glanced at Pamela, who shrugged.

"Not for me to decide," she replied. "Nature has a time and a plan of its own. We're just the ones who have to sit by and wait to either be fucked or be fucked over."

"Holy Hell," Prouse sighed, trying to keep his excitement (and sweat) under control. "You're a rare breed, Miss Isley. Everyone, listen to this here: She is correct. Humanities teaches us about the disciplines and social foundation of human culture. However, Humanities will also teach you about the changes… the _evolution_… of said culture. That's why we strive to understand the seeds of that change, and the roots. History will repeat itself, continuously, forever."

_Not always…_

"We have to remember that despite technological and social transformations, humans will inherently possess the same assemblies of good and evil, balancing both and thus engaging in open opportunities to perform both."

_Not if I can stop them… _

"And so, keeping the first day short and all, I'm going to be releasing you now, but I want you to go back to your dorms and others classes with this in mind: What kinds of changes would you apply to human culture to evolve it, if you were given the power of a Creator for one day? Understand why you would apply those changes, and how they would relate to historical alterations. You don't have to write anything. Just come back on Wednesday and tell me your thoughts."

_My thoughts would terrify you all…_

The class ended well enough. Pamela was out of her seat at once and ogled by everyone as she sped from the room. She moved fast, taking the stairs down the way two at a time… but she was not fast enough. The pursuer was faster than her, and she, Pamela, the prey, had not a chance in the world.

"Good one, Red!" Pamela pretended not to hear her…at least at first. After all, her name was not Red, so she did not have to act as if she had heard the name and admit that she associated it with herself in this moment. "Red? Pamela!"

_Well fuck_. "Yes?" Pamela sighed, turning around to face the almost out of breath Alissa.

"Sorry… it's just that, that was awesome, girl! I've never seen anyone as invested before. You've got fire in you. I was gonna ask, since Prouse let us out thirty minutes early… you wanna grab some food from the caf with me?"

"Why are you so interested in me?" Pamela demanded, unable to restrain herself. Alissa's eyes widened into shock.

"W-what?"

"What is it about me?" Pamela pressed on. "I'm not a nice person, if that's what you're looking for, Alissa Jagner. I'm a bitch. A _real_ bitch."

"So am I," Alissa shrugged. "And that's good enough for me. You're not like the rest of these boring SOB's. You have ovaries."

"Trust me, for your own sake, just let me be for now," Pamela warned, stepping away. "I'm here to socialize on my own time."

"That's fine. That's absolutely fine. But I want you to know that you don't have to start the semester off alone, either."

"Nor do I intend to. I intend to make friends. I intend to go and get food from the caf. I intend to play basketball with you, and I intend to look at male pornography with a group of friends one of these days. But I need time. Alright?"

Alissa grinned. "Alright. I understand. Look, let me give you my cell number and I'll look you up on Facescroll, alright?"

Pamela's eyes narrowed. "Facescroll?"

Alissa was bewildered. "You don't… have a Facescroll?"

"I've never even heard of one."

Alissa jumped up and down. "Pamela, you really are a bitch." She chuckled. "Thank God I'm here to pull your head out of your ass. Here. Give me a shout and I'll break you in the right way, okay."

And two minutes later, Alissa was speeding out of the dorm, leaving a bewildered and uncertain Pamela Isley to contemplate her new…friend?


	3. Chapter 3

"I recall reading about her achievements in the _Gazette_," said Jim Gordon, handing the young lady behind the java-house counter the full amount and walking away with Dr. Stefan before she could offer him change back. Not that she minded. He always told her to keep the change, and she would happily pocket the tip. Gordon and Stefan saw to the upstairs landing of the place, abandoned this early in the morning, and thus the wide sparse of empty tables gave a decent spot for their morning talk. Finding a nice corner booth, Gordon continued, "I recall Pamela Isley's name selected as the 'Kanigher and Moldoff Scholarship Winner for Biology'. Quite a nice award for a freshmen student."

"I remember that quite well," Stefan nodded sadly. "We paid them off."

"You what?" Gordon sipped his coffee and set it down firmly. Stefan sighed.

"That scholarship would never have been awarded to a freshmen student. They want to make sure that the student is going to stay on the course of the biology major. But some of us…well, not me, but others… You see, Pamela was very well liked at Coreman's. The board of evaluation saw quite a bit of potential in her, and she became friends with a lot of them very easily. Sure, she was introverted and acted indifferent to everyone, but that was a part of her charm: she was not an exploiter. Her charm came from how genuine she could be. And when Administrator Kane found out about the impressive work she performed in her Physical Science class, he took out a ten-thousand dollar bribe and shuffled it into the hands of Dean Nolan."

"But she…earned it? And he was willing to pay ten-thousand dollars in order to ensure she received a scholarship for fifteen?"

Stefan sipped his own coffee bitterly. "Kane's eccentric. He's mad himself. Probably gets it from the patients he hangs out with. I didn't like it, and I fought against it, but it was his own money. He could do what he wanted with it. The man's one of Gotham's wealthiest, gets about $750K a month. Aint nothing on him to do something….insane like this."

"And getting this scholarship put her in the eye of the public? So I wonder if she grew a fan-base… got some followers, that sort of thing."

Stefan laughed darkly, shaking his head. "No, Gordon. No. Not her. Not Pamela Isley. That's just not possible for her. You have to like people in order to do something like that. It's just not in the cards for the girl."

"Forever alone?"

"Pamela? Only as alone as she deems needed to her plans."

"And what plans would those be? What we know is that she is a serial murderer who has killed more than fifty people with lethal toxicity, transmitted orally in some cases. Plans like that, maybe?"

"A poison kiss is hardly the plan of Pamela Isley, Gordon. No. From the beginning, she had one goal in mind: nature. She was…is…obsessed with nature, with the preservation of the wilds and this…twisted perception of the superiority of plat-life to the inferiority of humankind. She rallied students on campus into a pro-environmental movement only last year, about six months before the first body was discovered in her on-campus apartment. Had at least one-hundred and fifty students following her cause. Now that aint never happened, Gordon. One student has never had that kind of influence at Gotham University. It's…supernatural."

"Supernatural?"

"How could she have such an influence over people? Everywhere you went, there was her name, being cried for all the peasants to hear. It bothers me, how much influence she truly had. We know she was murdering for at least three years before the first victim was found, correct?"

"According to official autopsy, many of the victims were at least three years old. It was only by chance that we found that diary of hers."

"How many bodies do you think there still are, out there buried in that marsh?"

"The Hallow is pretty big. She had thousands of places to hide them…"

"And yet that secretive marsh seemed to be the place she preferred to bury them, as if it were special to her. When the Batman asked me about secretive locations, I had naught to say. But it makes sense. She had no special places because she was always under the watch of Yvonne Killinger or someone else from Coreman's. But when released, and placed on campus alone…"

Naturally, as environmentally obsessed as Pamela Isley is, the Hallow would have provided well-needed isolation from the rest of campus. Naturally, she would have explored."

"But then is there something there that the Batman could find that the GCPD could not?"

Gordon shuffled uncomfortably. "I'm running them into the ground with how intense this investigation has to be. They're scouring every inch of the Hallow, searching for bodies. But we cannot assume that the Hallow is the only location. Fifty-nine of her victims have been accounted for, but a total of eighty-seven people have gone missing who we've linked to either having been involved with the campus or with Isley personally. I believe our first priority should be to find Woodrue. If we find him, he can give us a direction, having been her accomplice."

"You suspect he's even alive at this point?"

Gordon nodded. "He vanished quickly enough, I agree, but Woodrue was smart. Is smart. We suspect he planned all along to skip town at the last moment. We investigated his home. After we found that…machine… and we found the smashed terminal in the burning pit behind the home, we think we can salvage some much needed information from it. Consider yourself lucky that I'm telling you all of this. Strictly speaking, all of this is confidential. But you were closer to her than anyone else."

"Woodrue was a maniac. However, we know she was killing for at least two years prior to meeting the man," said Stefan. "That machine you found…tell me what it was."

"I haven't the foggiest," Gordon sighed. "Never seen anything like that. Two different terminals hooked into it. Big glass structure, like an enclosed shower. A single chair inside, and hanging from tubes were long syringes… It was like some twisted lethal injection chamber. But I doubt that was its purpose. Isley and Woodrue both had no trouble killing people. They didn't need a lethal injection chamber. Whatever the hell that machine was, Woodrue smashed it up good and left it a useless, empty carcass that we still haven't been able to decipher."

"Naturally, Pamela's genius reputation on campus could have given her the advantage to draw in Woodrue's eyes when he came to Gotham… but she didn't exactly have one in the end, did she?" Stefan noted. And now it was Gordon's time to grimace. He closed his eyes, and shivered a little.

"No, I suppose she did not…"

"Oh no she didn't!" the stupid fuck with her fucking face and her fucking eyes fucking said to her fucking friends. This, at least, was how Pamela noted her surroundings in its primitive, almost self-preserved ecological process. The party was being hosted at one Jim Lee's home, an Asian-American graphic design student with a love for vibrant purples. The entire house was saturated in purple and light blue illumination, the disco ball spinning from the living room hitting its patrons with ball after all. Beneath it, there were _idiots_ dancing. So many idiots. _One idiot, two idiot, red idiot, blue idiot_.

Girls gossiped near where she stood in one corner, behind her a wooden plank that read, "**The Sultan House: Home of the Kings of Gotham City." **She had woven Senecio macroglossus (to the stupid, 'wax ivy') into her crimson strands and decorated her head neatly with a pink sunflower. To her, she was the definition of beauty. To others, she was a freak standing in a corner, holding a dumb book entitled, "Party tips: How to be the social norm in any situation," with ivy braided through her hair. She clung tightly to the book, needing it close to her at all times. Within the confines of the pages, the secrets to interactions with living Neanderthals awaited. Their communication techniques and mating rituals could be experimented with, and their dumb-assery could never get in the way of successful utilization.

Alissa, her ride, was cartwheeling across the living room within the mass circle of dancing drunks. She was in a black jogging suit and her hair was tied into pigtails, and needless to say, she was the eye of a gang of observing men who sat about the room-spanning scarlet couch, sipping away at _Bruce Timm's Ale-o-Hell, _the most popular drink that Lee had drug out for this compilation of idiocracy.

Alissa wheeled right up to Pamela, who watched wide-eyed, and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Why the fuck are you standing here in the corner!?" she practically screamed in Pamela's face. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" People were snickering at Alissa's obvious intoxication. Her whole face was blood red. Pamela, calmly, pushed her away.

"I'm just tending to myself. I don't like dancing."

"Come and dance with me right this minute, young lady!" Alissa cooed, trying to squish Pamela's cheek, who defiantly pushed her away.

"Maybe some other time. I intend, fully, to learn to dance and engage in social interaction, Alissa. But not now." And she leaned against the wall, raising her eyebrows in a challenge to Alissa. Alissa, meanwhile, shook her head but kept smiling, and immediately "Wheeeeeeeeed!" as she cartwheeled back into the crowd of onlookers, most of whom were not staring at Pamela and snickering whispers to one another. She ignored them to the best of her ability, and instead eyed a nearby table, upon which sat a cooler full of _Timms_. She had been here for an hour now, and had neglected to partake in inebriating tasks. But now…now?

_Now I shall help myself to a cold drink_, she robotically thought. Roboticism was the new her. She stepped forward into the mostly empty kitchen and pushed her way past two patrons locked in passionate intimacy. She noted these two as she reached for a drink: _Why in public? Have they no shame?_ Of course, she had never actually _been_ with anyone. A first kiss? No. Never kissed. Never been interested in kisses, or sexual intercourse, or fellatio, or any number of the various mating exchanges between male and female humans. And why should she? Humans were…not like plants. They had no continuous, evolving structure and no elegance with every second of life. Humans lived for self-destruction; plants lived for preservation and uprising.

_I'd fuck a plant before I'd fuck one of these bastards_, she thought casually… and when she thought it, she immediately put it out of mind. _THAT'S IN THE PAST, PAMELA! THE PAST! NO MORE, NO MORE! NOT EVER AGAIN! REMEMBER!? REMEMBER THAT'S WHY THEY PUT YOU IN STEFAN'S LOONEY BIN!? _

_ I thought that was because you almost killed a nine-year child with an ant-hill,_ said another voice, deep, deep inside of her soul. _It had nothing to do with the plants. _

_ It started with the plants! They discovered me!_

_ They discovered the kitten_, said the voice. _The kitten, Pamela. Not the plant… not the lily. The plants never caused you distress, Pamela… _

She uncorked the bottle using the small device left behind on the table, and sipped her first alcoholic beverage carefully. Never been kissed, never been laid. And before this moment, never drank beer. This was at least one first for tonight. For the other two things, well… again, she had to remind herself that she had no interest in passionate affairs. Kisses and cuddles did not appeal to her.

A tap on the shoulder. Pamela jerked awake from her stand-still dreamulation and spun around. One of the men who had been ogling her from the couch was standing before her, hairy faced and muscular in his red-plaid shirt. He looked very much like a Grimm's lumberjack.

"Hey, Pam," he said politely enough, smiling from behind the bush. "Want a drink? I mean, a real drink, not this Timm's shit. We got a special one right here for you in the back bedroom. Come on and loosen up, have some fun with us. You've been wandering around by yourself and it's scaring me a little, you know. What if you're a serial killer and you're gonna chop us all up one by one, huh?"

"Funny," Pamela noted, snorting loudly. "Genius. You have no wrongfulness there, do you? That's just what I am, yes. Of course. Why not? Mind if I chop you up first, fecal-face?"

The man rumbled in amusement. "Alright, alright, in all seriousness, I and my friends think you ought to socialize more. Name's Otto Rock and I don't want you to be alone at this party for the rest of the night."

"Why the fuck do you care?" she asked casually and so simply. Rock smiled.

"Aint a guy allowed to be into redheads?"

"Aint a guy allowed to keep his dick attached to his pelvis in return for _not_ touching the redhead?"

"What, are you toxic or something?" He prodded her arm lightly, and feigned choking and spluttering out of control. Pissed and annoyed, Pamela pushed past him and re-entered the living room, insulted by his poor attempt at humor. He naturally hurried after her and came around. "Hey, look, I'm sorry, okay… I just wanted to get to know you. You're really…well, fuck, you're cute, so sue me, alright."

Pamela crossed her arms and sighed. "Why does everyone obsess over my social interactions in this place?"

"Because you're a sophomore, right? You've been here for a year, now, and you never talk to anyone, except that crazy bitch Alissa Jagner, and trust me…she's a real piece of work. Insane off her block. You need to diversify your friends a little. I just want to be your friend. Maybe get drunk with you and do a little making out, huh? I'm SORRY!" He said quickly, as she tried to push forward again. "S-sorry, I just-"

"You're a moron," she hissed. "You possess a certain quality of dissociative rationality mostly found within the Homo sapiens lineup. Do I need to cut it off? Would that make you feel better and more in control?"

"Holy hell, you're a bitch," Bitch said slowly, but he was chuckling as he said it. "This is exactly what I mean. Consider the social interactions here a chance to observe and strengthen the patterns of us…Homo sapiens, then."

Pamela inhaled deeply. Just what…._what… _was this man's game? Persistent as Alissa, but not so easily deterred. She looked around desperately, suddenly craving Alissa's companionship (and a quick escape from the party), but the hyperactive athlete was nowhere to be found. _Where the hell did she go!? _Otto Rock noticed her searching eyes, and keenly smiled.

"Looking for Jagner?"

Pamela looked around at him, wide-eyed. "How did you-"

"Psychic powers?" He shrugged. "She's your ride, right? And in this kind of situation, she'd be an escape, right?"

"I don't need to _escape_ anything," she pointedly said, prodding him very hard in the chest. Rock grinned.

"Then prove it. Come and hang out with me, Archie and Donovan. We snuck some of our own special spirits into Lee's place. He only likes a certain kind of liquor served at his parties. Asian prick. Wants the stuff weak and sugary. You don't like that, do you?" He nodded at the bottle in her hand. Pamela looked at it, briefly, and considered. _No, I don't… I don't like this stuff at all… _

_ Why not do it? _the deep voice suddenly asked, letting its presence be known once more. _Why not give him a try? Never been fucked, only fucked over, right, Pamela? _

Pamela sighed. _I'm not interested in that stuff… _

"Come on." Rock sounded almost desperate now. His eyes were actually glistening. _Glistening. _She looked at his eyes closely, studying his face, and in shock, felt something there. _Longing? _Did he…like her, or something? Did he truly, genuinely like her that much? "I'm sorry," he sighed, suddenly looking downtrodden. His mouth quivered. "I…I just thought…you're so pretty and smart, and I just…I'm sorry for bothering you. I'll go." His voice had fallen so lightly. He sounded truly, genuinely upset that she would not hang out with him. Shoulders slouching, he moved began to move away…

Now destiny, you see, has a dark way about itself. Destiny, fate… is there a difference? Fate is inevitable. Destiny is determined to be inevitable and made so. Correlated, both travel the same road, but are traversed in different vehicles. Subconsciously, the fulfilment of one's destiny can joint to traversing one's fate that is, by apparent, unwanted. What matters, truly, is that life's scenes are short to duration but the acts go beyond three structures. Prod a girl in the back with a sword and she'll move forward. Prod her lightly with a stick, however, and she will have to consider whether or not to do so.

Otto Rock was a stick, underneath which was a hidden blade.

"No!" she suddenly cried out, unsure as to why she did it. Fate, it seemed, had won out… but perhaps deep down, so had destiny, depending upon the set of eyes that looked out through the ocular lenses of Pamela Isley…

Rock stopped, looking around quickly. "Huh?"

"I…" Did she want this? Did she really want this? "I…want to…hang out with you." She said this to the floor, as if it could hear her. Rock was suddenly looking brighter than noon.

"Alright!" he gasped, positively jumping up and down. "Yeah! Yeah, alright! Come on! Let me introduce you." He grabbed her hand before she could stop him (or permit him) and she felt her book slide out of her arms as she was pulled away. But some part of her disabled her annoyance to the point where she could verbally berate him, and thus she was whisked away to her destiny…or her fate…

Archie and Donovan were quite obviously football whores. Muscular and huge, one was Latino, the other Canadian. Archie, a ginger, pulled the _Timms_ from her hand as she approached, much to her shock, and examined it closely. "Um…um uh. No, I don't don't don't don't think so so." When he spoke, he seemed to repeat certain words. "No no, lets get you you a drink, alright alright?"

"A real drink," Donovan, the dark-haired Latino, nodded. "Lee!" he called out, chucking Pamela's drink in the trash can near the couch. "Your shit is _shit_."

"Up yours!" Lee cried, drunk and slow dancing across the living room with a floor lamp. Well, at least the primary. The shade was over his head, and drawn across it was an angry face in his favor. "Igirisuhito, tamago o suu ikimasu!" he sang, crashing into a group of giggling girls and amassing into a pit-worthy pileup. Everyone in the room exploded with laughter. Rock, Donovan and Archie, meanwhile, beckoned Pamela to follow them, handing her a large blue bottle, already opened for her, unmarked.

"What is it?" she asked them, examining the dark liquid closely as she followed them out onto the back porch, which was abandoned, away from the loud music and idiotic partiers.

"Special brew," Rock told her, sitting at the porch table and kicking his feet up onto the tabletop. "Archie's dad made it. Has a distillery in the Hallow. We call it "Sunshine." Has more of a kick than Moonshine. Try it and tell me what you think."

Pamela's hand was shaking. They were all watching her excitedly, all nodding encouragingly. She glanced up at them, suddenly…terrified. Of what, she could not imagine. Why was she so scared all of a sudden?

"I promise it's not poison," Rock laughed. "We're not psychopaths, scout's honor!"

Pamela nodded. "Right," she laughed nervously, trying, for the first time in her life, to _socialize… _And so she took a sip…and _loved_ it! The stinging sensation, burn-worthy as it was, was a fine element in his throat, corrosively lime-like in flavor. She looked around at them, surprised. Donovan let out a whimsical cheer. Archie gave her a thumbs up, and Rock beamed.

"Good stuff, aint it!?" he exclaimed. "Good stuff, right?"

"V-very," she whispered, before taking another, much larger, sip. She took another soon after… and that sip became a drink…. and then that drink became a chug. For two minutes, they all sat in silence, each of them taking swig after swig of the "Sunshine," as they called it, Donovan and Archie watching her very, very closely… and in time, she lost notice of this at all. In fact, she lost notice of a lot of things. Their facial features, for example. They had become blurry. _Oh well, who needs 'em? _The table and her own hands. _Well, I never liked my hands much anyway. _Then the whole world, reality turning black and empty. _Who c- _

_Now for a haiku_

_Let us all sing of victims _

_Rohypnol takes all_

"Want to do another pop quiz?" Pamela asked Fredericks. Fredericks lay so still, as if he himself were dead (which, by now, he desperately wished). She had moved him from the tree. Now he lay within the giant creature plant itself, still bound with the thick vines, his back still bleeding by how deeply the bark of the wood had cut into his skin. Pamela was snuggled against his side, her arms thrown over his chest, as if the two were lovers, resting together after a most passionate affair.

He remained silent, stoic to the best of his ability, his heart hammering and his tears still trickling. When he did not answer, Pamela looked up, wide-eyed, and she asked, a little more firmly, "_Do you want another pop quiz, Fredericks?" _

Fredericks closed his eyes tightly, tears flooding. He could not for the life of him speak to her. He had forgotten how. As she had spoken…as she had relayed part of her "tale" to him, he had struggled within (and in vain) to sink away into farther dreams. So much failure in one day, all on him.

She sighed, exasperated with him now. She crawled away from him and hung over the edge of the plant for a moment. If only his legs and arms were free, he would push her over the edge, down there into the lagoon with Kroker and the bailiff… and God knew how many other victims were swimming down there beneath all that poison… She seemed to be fumbling around with something. She pulled back, after a few seconds, and he saw that in her hand she held a-

"Like my giant thorn?" she asked him tenderly, stroking its black curve with affection….with love. "It has quite an edge to it."

Now he found his voice. "Yes, I want another pop quiz!" he gasped, his chest heaving. She stared at him for a moment, looking happy that he had finally spoken to her… and then, without warning, she dived forward and began to carve.

Now, he had not only found his voice, but also his scream. Also very much his scream…

He screamed and screamed, but no one came down from Heaven, as he desired, to smite this demon away. He blood ran wildly as she cut, very slowly at that, across his chest, carving terrible letters as he screamed his bloody head clean off. He could not move his body… he suddenly felt impossible in every physical thought. _Paralyzed_…

"PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NO! GOD, NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"YES, YES, YES YES YES YES YES! GOD, YES! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!" she sang along with him, flailing her flame-red hair about her face wildly, making sounds like that of a baby blowing bubbles. She finished her last stroke of flesh-based calligraphy with a firm, forcible slice down his side, and the agony was too much to bear. His blood was flowing rapidly now. When she had finished, she tossed the thorn down into the lagoon and came to cuddle back against him, stroking his blood soaked chest tenderly and licking her fingers…_licking his blood from her fingers! God, no! _

"Yum, yum, yummy," she sang lightly, staring into blank space. "'_Try Carelli's Strawberry Fizzes, it'll taste like nobody's business!'" _She delighted in the memoir of the gum advertisement as Fredericks sobbed bitterly, unable to move his body still. God, if only he could move… if only he could shift his body…

"Shut up, now," Pamela snapped, taking a long stand of vine and binding his mouth tight with the stuff. "I'm getting to the good part now, it's so _fucking rude to interrupt, b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-bassssssss-sss-s-sss-stard_." She stuttered relentlessly in her genuine, fiery fury. There was such _hatred_ in her eyes. Her tear-stricken, green poison pulsing eyes!

The first thing she saw, when she awoke, was his eyes. He was leaning close over her… but she only saw this through a hazy lens. The world around her, though not blurry in fullness, had traces of distortion. She felt nothing. She felt empty. Otto Rock, nude, pulled out of her, stroking his erection softly as he smiled around at Donovan and Archie, both of whom were also nude. Donovan held a camcorder in hand, and was filming every second. They had already had their turns…

Although she was not aware of it, she had awoken atop a well-fluffed king-sized bed, in a room far, far away from where the party had been taking place. Much further. This was not the same house. This house was well within Gotham City limits, unlike Lee's house, which was on the western outskirts. Of course, she neither had the ability to acknowledge this nor the ability to care. Her world was foggy… her world was not hers.

"Pamela," Rock said calmly, stroking his hair calmly as he removed his condom and tossed it on the floor to the side. "Can you sit up?"

She was a dream. She was a fiction. But nonetheless, she, zombie-like and unaware, sat up… and when she did, she felt like air. She stared forward, her head tilting to its side. Blank. Blank blank blankety blankness.

"Pamela, look at me?" Donovan called out gently, adjusting the zoom lens and closing in on her face. She looked around slowly, blinking once, drooling and unaware. Again, her head fell to the side. "That's my girl." He licked his lips. "XVideos is going to love this. I think we might even get away with BravoErotica. You think we'll be paid?"

"I think you need to shut the fuck up," Rock hissed irritably. "We're recording audio, too, D. We don't need that in the video."

"Up yours," Donovan chuckled, moving the camera up and down, relishing every shot of her nude, raped form. "Think she was a virgin?"

"Don't matter now, does it?" Archie whispered. "Three's Company definitely had a good finale…"

"I swear to God I'm going to cut both of your throats if you don't shut the hell up!" Rock exclaimed madly, making them both turn stone still. "Now we're gonna have to dub some audio over the video. You realize what we just did can get us landed in Blackgate!?"

"Speak for yourself, I think Donovan's more of an Arkham bitch," Archie guffawed, punching the Latino rapist on the arm.

"HEY!" Donovan hissed irritably, "don't shake my fucking arm. I'm shooting my first Emmy!"

"Can we get started, ladies?" Rock asked them both grimly, punching the wall of the dim room. Pamela did not react at all to the violent speech and movements from the three men. The white wall was so…existential. Drool cascaded down her chin.

"Get them," Donovan told Archie, who nodded and ran over to the door. He pulled from the shadows a large, clay planter, inside of which grew a sizable Saint George's sword, otherwise known as _Sansevieria trifasciata_. When Pamela saw it, she focused on its hazy green features through her distorted vision, swiping at the air to touch its smooth leaves. "That's right, bitch, claw…claw," Donovan whispered, snickering loudly.

"Hey, Pamela?" Rock had a wicked smile on his face. "You like plants?"

"Ugh huuug yuuub," Pamela said dumbly, her mouth hanging open as she stroked the leaves of the plant now.

"Well, that's good, because we got this one for you," said Rock. He sighed, looking content with himself. "See, I'm a psychology major, Pamela. And I have friends all over Gotham City. Particularly in Coreman's Ridge. And you know what they told me? Why, everything about you, of course. You're quite a character, Pamela. Heard you fucked a plant and killed a kitty one time, at the same time, right? Got put in the loony bin, too." He tutted loudly. "Well, that wasn't right. A girl should have the right to her personal pleasures. It's key definition to the character. So, Pam… wanna fuck that plant? I want you to fuck that plant."

"Oobay kaaey…" Pamela felt to her knees, her head swimming all over the place. All three of her rapists snickered now. Rohypnol was hardly their weapon of choice. You wanted to take away the ability to resist, yes, but to add an extra ingredient of total dominance? That required something a little more potent. Sunshine, indeed…

"Fuck the plant," Archie cried out.

"Come on, Pamela!" Donovan encouraged.

"Do it for me, Pamela," Rock finished.

And Pamela, her mind gone and addled, crawled forward, naked as the day she had come into the world, and obeyed their commands. Her will was not her own. That belonged to the drug that had been spiked into her "Sunshine…" That drug was her only god now, more so than Mother Earth…

And Donovan recorded every…last…second. For half an hour it went, and all three of them were quite sure that this video was make them famous. Fetish taken to a whole new level. And she would have no memory of this, in the morning, when she would awaken on the side of the road, tossed into a ditch on the outskirts of Gotham… there was no way she would ever come to haunt them. Each of them had held the camera carefully as they claimed her. Their faces would never show up in their first person perspective quest. Rock would make sure of the absence of their voices.

Pamela Isley was their slave. She belonged to them.

"Dear God…" Gordon said, wiping tears from his eyes, his fist shaking furiously.

Stefan nodded, looking grimmer than ever. "Those three… if Pamela hadn't gotten to them first… I sure as hell would have murdered them myself. And you can take that back to the GCPD with you, James."

Gordon nodded darkly.


	4. Chapter 4

"Alfred?" The shadow atop Wayne Tower spoke softly into his arm-comm as he reprogrammed the city surveillance relay at the tower's peak spire.

"Yes, Master Bruce?" a voice from his arm said, static, a little, from the approaching storm tonight.

"I need all you can tell me about the Hallow." He began to insert codes connected to the floric samples installed from the Batcomputer. With a little luck, the samples he had found at Woodrue's city home… "The police found all of those bodies in a hidden marsh. I need to know if there have been seismic activities detected in the last three months."

"I'll get to scanning," said Alfred on the other end. "I daresay this has been quite a night. Perhaps you would like to come home and take a rest? _Please?_"

"I'm close on this, Alfred. The floric samples, _Siderian triforcemei _and the _Nyrox_ seeds… both highly illegal, but more so rare. Traces found in the victims' lungs. And what do we know about both plants, Alfred?"

"That they're grown in highly marshy areas… so you want me to check the seismic activity in the Hallow marshlands, obviously."

"She's already shown us her mutagenics," Batman insisted, saving the data on the terminal just as the first raindrop fell. "We know that she's using mutated plant-life during her raids. The witnesses who survived said they were massive. Elephant sized. If that's the case, then it's a simple matter of detecting earth-based vibrations strong enough to match that scale. Using both the _Nyrox _and the _Siderians_, it would make sense for her to be based near one of the Hallow marshlands… but not too close to where the bodies were found. That would be too obvious. She's smart… she won't be anywhere near where she stows her crimes away…"

"And Woodrue?"

"Woodrue will have to be my first target. With the storm coming, we're going to be getting severe interference with the satellites. And we can't base a single seismic incident on one pinpoint, not if there's a root system… Nonetheless I want them."

"Well, you have them…" Alfred's voice turned dark and foreboding. "Everywhere, by the looks of it. According to the computer, there are high amounts of seismic activity all across the southern and northern areas of the Hallow. It's widespread and doesn't seem to have an origin point that's apparent…"

"Record the readings and put them in a new folder," Bruce Wayne said quickly, spinning around and taking flight from the skyscraper top, spreading his wings wide as the rain began to fall more fiercely. The sky was black this evening. As the rain hit him like a storm of bullets, Bruce Wayne closed his eyes and inhaled deeply…

_Woodrue…it all falls down to Woodrue… He'll be the key to finding her. _

"Master Bruce?" Alfred sounded concerned. "Please come in early. You haven't slept in two days. And you really can't afford to miss a third day of work…"

"Lucius is doing fine. I warned him it might run well into a week, and don't worry…he gave me his personal thoughts, too, but agreed. Let's focus on the real work."

"Whatever you say, I suppose. But I don't much like the idea of you being done in by what essentially boils down to a deranged hippie?"

"Deranged hippie is hardly the term for this woman, Alfred…" He twisted his body right and straightened to a landing atop a pizzeria, which happened to have a mini-garage at its crown. The garage was empty, and he leaned against the wall, planning his next move. "She's not a radical environmentalist whose gone about her political agenda in an extreme way… She's a genuine lunatic. She hates, Alfred. _Hates_. These kinds of killing, as many as they are and how quickly they're going… this isn't political extremism."

"Too understandable. I took a peak at the file Gordon sent you, from his talks with Dr. Stefan. Don't think of me as misguided, Master Bruce. I know what they did to her, what they took from her… but there is a time when you need to let them die out."

"She's too good at what she does…she won't let herself het caught by the police. Already over sixty people have died. I'm going to track Woodrue down and force her location out of him. He's going to Blackgate and I don't intend for him to ever leave it."

"That man just doesn't exist anymore, Bruce. He's wiped any current living record with his disappearance."

"I know, Alfred…that's why I need you to run a search for me." He actually smiled, despite the whole situation. He had figured it out earlier today, and had to place faith in the plan now. _God willing, this will give us information…_ "I need you to look into no-fly zones within a one-hundred mile radius between Bludhaven and the southern outskirts of Gotham."

"Military?"

"Military and domestic. I need a name search. Woodrue."

"I'll access the Federal Database. Give me a few minutes and I can get some form of confirmation."

"Take your time… I have one last stop to make. I'll check back in within half an hour. There's someone who may be able to shed some light on the matter."

"Who is that, sir?"

Bruce clenched a fist. "She sold him those canisters, didn't she?" He began to approach the edge of the building. On the other end, he heard Alfred tut in disbelief.

"Master Bruce, you can't be serious…"

"I am. They had something going on between them…either them or them and a third party. But she had a connection, Alfred, and he was buying off of her. I'm going to ask him all about that."

"And what makes you think that the Joker will want to help you in an investigation of this nature, Master Bruce?"

From beneath his cowl, Bruce smiled. "Because I have a wonderful joke to tell him…"

_The joke had been on her…_

When she awoke, she awoke nude as the day she had entered the world, but in fifteen times worst of a shape… and she had been a premature by two months. Strands of ivy engulfed her limbs…dirt covered from her hair to soles… scars and bites from insects littered her body, dry blood saturated her face, and her eyes were stinging…

Weakly, almost impossibly, Pamela climbed to her feet, almost falling right back down as her vision threatened to distort the reality around her.

She was in the middle of a forest. She recognized it to be the Hallow. These marshlands were all too familiar…her secret spot, where she liked to escape the rest of the world, was close to this lonely dirt road, in which she awoken within a ditch on its side.

Her head was pounding. Her breath was ragged. Looking around wildly, Pamela tried to make sense of what was happening. Why was she naked, and why had she awoken in the middle of the woods, alone…abandoned…? She tried to recollect her thoughts, her memories… All was but a passing blur, an illusion of knowability. There was nothingness in recollection, no tender thought to harness her safely into revising the past from a night before, for it was clearly mid-morning, the birds still singing their sonata of awakening, the light still blush-worthy as it prepared its entry stage right.

_What happened…? What happened last night…? I don't… even remember… _

Not for the life of her. Not for the continuation of her existence could she remember what has transpired the night before. Dumbly, painfully, she desperately searched around for her clothing, kicking aside piles of leaves and brush… but however she had come to be in this forest and its ditch, her cloths had not come with her. _What in the hell happened to me?_

Painfully, as each step twanged battered limbs, frail from the ditch and its cutteries that had mauled her, she limped forward, staggering down the road. She had walked this road a few times during the last six months, and knew a good part of the Hallow decently enough. However, fearing that someone would come down the road at any moment in a truck or a car, she wanted to hide her nudity, and thus dived into the thick brush of shrubs and ivy growing in clumps about the oaks and willows. It was clumsy work, fashioning together clumps large of what she identified was poison ivy to cover that which she did not want seen (she had no fear, of course, being part of the 15% within the United States who had a natural immunity to the oils). Wishing she could see herself, she moved as quickly as she could, the clumps of poison ivy dancing about over her body as she moved as quickly as her aching legs would allow.

_How did I get here? Was I drunk? Did I drink and go off on a wild exploration!?_

No, she could not have. She had planned it from the moment that Alissa Jagner had come knocking at her dormitory door, begging her to come to the party, because, 'It's going to be a blast, we're gonna get hammered hard!' Alissa was always one for less than orthodox indulgences, a true night owl with a thirst for experience. Pamela had, at the time, considered turning the offer down, and had at first voiced concerns that late-night partying would lead to extra hours of studying to maintain her level as the most aspiring and participant student in her biological sciences seminars. Dr. Corbett was depending upon her to keep the other students encouraged with her excessive contribution to class discussion…

But no, she had given in. Why was Alissa so hard to get rid of? She seemed to be drawn to Pamela in an annoyingly…welcome sort of way. She had friends. Many friends. She was a talented intramural Vary with the body of a college goddess and the sex drive to match it… in addition, her intellectual abilities were quite…unexpected. Psychology was hardly a field for the typical dumbass, and Alissa was no dumbass… Nevertheless, she never _acted_ like the professional…was the word "kissass?" Despite her unprofessional output and the fact that half the time Pamela was around her, she smelled terrible… Alissa was genuinely a good friend to her. Pamela had always been a bitch to the woman with a means or cause… but Alissa was always right there, coming back to join her friend without a care in the world.

_She really will make a fine psychologist, someday… _

Alissa had been her ride… and she was nowhere to be seen. So two possibilities came to Pamela's mind: either Alissa had gotten so hammered that even now she was probably still passed out at Lee's house, or… Pamela herself had been the one to get that way, and Alissa was probably terrified out of her mind that the woman she had given a ride for was invalid in presence and status.

Ten minutes passed by, each step growing the distant towers of Gotham more and more. She could see the campus perimeter from the hill upon which she descended, but nary a vehicle came her way. Judging by the sun, it must be at least eleven in the morning… but today was also a Sunday, and students would not be returning for the new week until evening time… This meant that she had an open window, right now, to possibly cross campus, nude and clad in poison ivy, all the way to Hamrak Hall where Alissa lived _without_ being spotted… but the odds of that were very slim. At least fifty percent of the student body lived on campus, and at least thirty or somewhat percent of that had no one to go home to for the weekends…

_And even so, campus police set up those cameras all around the grounds… Holy Mother Earth, I'm going to be arrested…_

But maybe that would be a good thing. If she were arrested, she could explain to the police what had happened. Even if she were slapped with a fine for public indecency (despite going out of her way to cover herself with what the forest had provided), she would at least be given some decent clothes and could be checked out for internal damage…

_Not that these clothes are bad or anything… as a matter of fact, if I had it my way, we would all dress like this… and I would eternally drape myself in poison ivy. It's quite fetching on my body… _

Past the biology grounds and the flourishing greenhouse where she spent most of her college existence, she tried her best to keep to the shadows of the trees, as she was well within sight from the windows of Napier Hall and Wayne Hall, both situated alongside one another on the western hilltops near the occupational safety and health institutes.

Hamrak Hall was situated a little ways past biological sciences, going away from Napier and Wayne, not too far from Morris Hall. Seeing the red-brick foundation, she took a chance and sprinted across the green lawn, forcing herself not to scream from the pain that endured upon her as she ran. Halfway across the lawn of biology, however, she succumbed to the pain and tripped forward, rolling into a quagmire that she had not seen coming. The mud and algae was a terrible ordeal, but she could not afford to be discovered here. Dripping and cursing at the bog-like lawn, she forced herself up and climbed a small hill that led up to a concrete path, connecting a wide, red bridge between the biology grounds and the rest of campus (though the bridge was not essential to traverse the two, as everything was just a downhill and uphill hike without it).

She would have gotten further than this too, without being detected, but as fate would have it, that was the moment that the maintenance woman, Candy Sathers, happened to be driving on by on her campus appointed golf cart. The large woman stopped her cart, and Pamela stopped her journey. Both stared each other down, one face shocked, the other utterly humiliated…

Before any words could be said, Pamela burst into fierce tears and took off, howling in both pain and embarrassment as Sathers stared, dumbstruck, after the howling woman. Angry, terrified, Pamela looked over her shoulder and she ran and saw Sathers talking on a handheld transceiver, casting nervous looks in Pamela's direction.

She did not stop running until she reached number five of Hamrak Hall, a series of singular floored, connected apartments owned by the campus. Banging desperately on number five, she sobbed hysterically against the redwood, begging Alissa to open the door. All around her, people were sprinting across campus, coming out of dormitories and classroom buildings to get better looks at this naked, ivy-clad woman. Doors were opening on either side. Heads were poking out.

_Oh, Mother Earth, no…nononononononononononononononononononono…" _

"ALISSA!?" she screamed hysterically. "ALISSA!"

The door yanked open, and before anyone could approach her, Pamela fell forward, falling into Alissa, who toppled down onto the floor in a tangled mess of flesh and ivy. Both of them let out a yelp as they hit the soft, red carpet, and Pamela quickly twisted her body, kicking with as much force as she could muster against the door, just as the next door neighbors were peering into the frame.

Alissa managed to disentangle herself from Pamela's forestry wear, and crawled away slowly, wide-eyed in her own shock at Pamela's sobbing, hysterical state. Pamela looked around at her friend, her face saturated in tears…

"Alissa?" she breathed, quivering uncontrollably. Alissa, who was draped in naught but two single towels, quickly sprinted forward and removed them, attacking Pamela at once as she began a fierce battle against the mud, grime and filth that Pamela had become victim to. She pulled away the strands of ivy, not caring or knowing that she would probably get a bad reaction for touching them, and as she cleaned her hysterical, sobbing friend, she hissed urgently, "Pamela, what the hell happened to you!?"

"W-w-where w-were y-you!?" Pamela cried against the carpet, clawing at the fabric madly. "W-w-where were you, A-Alissa!?"

"Where was I?"

"L-last night… tell me w-what happened…"

Alissa sat back, looking shocked at being asked such a question.

"What happened!? Pam, what are you talking about? You left the party, didn't you?"

"What do you mean I left the party!?" Pamela demanded, flinging herself forward and grabbing Alissa by the shoulder blades. Alissa, terrified, tried to pull away but was not strong enough to break free of her grip… Pamela's face was strained and fierce.

"You were…tipsy. They said you were tipsy… and they said they were taking you back to their farm, that you were wanting to see their horses. Rock said you and him were together."

_Rock… Rock, Rock, Rock… _

"Rock?" Pamela whispered. Something about that name stung her… and made her feel…was it sickness? "Who is Rock?"

"Otto Rock. He's in psychology, with me. He and a few of his friends were at the party last night and he said you and him had sucked up. You were going back to his place, mumbling something about "fun under the stars…"

"I spoke to you…?"

"A little. You were really wasted, Pam… You couldn't even hold your head up right. Everything came out as near-gibberish and you were drooling a lot. Otto promised to get you home safely and told me I didn't have to worry about you… I thought that-"

"You thought?" Pamela whispered, falling back now and releasing her. She stared forward, her mind suddenly shifting… straining to remember…

_Rock, Rock, Rock, Rock… _

Why did that name terrify her!? Why the hell did that name make her want to hide!? WHY!?

"Alissa… I think… I think I didn't want to… I think…"

"Pam?" Alissa looked really scared now. Pamela gripped her head tightly and rocked back and forth.

"I don't know what I'm trying to say," she hissed. "But… I feel… I don't feel…"

_Rock, Rock, Rock, Rock, ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK… _

"You and Rock…didn't hook up?" Alissa suggested quietly.

"This morning," Pamela breathed, "I woke up, naked, lying in a ditch in the middle of the woods…" She looked at Alissa in disbelief. "_In the middle of the woods!_"

"Why?"

"I don't know why!" Pamela bitched, unnecessarily flipping Alissa off. He hands were shaking madly. "I don't know why, Alissa, I don't know why!"

_RockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRock RockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRock RockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRockRock_

_RockRockRockRockRockRockRockRock_….

_Donovan. _

"What!?" she whispered aloud, looking around her in the dimness. Alissa shook her head, looking freaked.

"What what?"

"I… Donovan…"

"Donovan?" Alissa repeated, puzzled. "Yeah, he was there…" Pamela's eyes widened. Alissa, biting her lip, said, "Donovan Ventimago. Tennis player. Broadcasting major."

"He…went with me and…Rock?"

"Yeah, he and Archibald Helan. 'Archie,' for short."

"Archibald…" Pamela whispered to herself. She closed her eyes, and strained her mind.

_What happened? What happened!? _

A flash… of something. Something blurred, distorted from the rest of reality. Flesh-colored, and bulky… above her… descending… and pain! Pain unfamiliar… Down there… where there ought not to be pain like that…

She looked down, automatically, at her pelvic region, feeling a cold, cold feeling…

_You know, don't you? _the voice deep within her asked. _You just don't want to admit to it… _

"Admit…to…what?"

Alissa frowned deeply. "Pamela?"

"Admit to what, admit to what!?" she repeated to herself, over and over, scratching at her red curls firmly. "What am I admitting to!?"

"Did…did Rock do something to you, Pamela?" Alissa hissed, looking terrified at the possible answers that would be given to her.

"I..no..I…he can't..could not…could…" Pamela's word were the definition of nonsense. Broken and jittery, like a damaged radio filled with static.

_What did they do to me!?_

The image in her mind was becoming clearer. The fleshy blur solidified and became more apparent… it was definitely a body. A muscular body. On top of…her.

_Oh Mother Earth… oh no…_

That pain, in her pelvic region? Like a destructive pain. Barriers broken down that had never been broke before… Violations against her will. Pamela fell forward, unable to hold herself up… her body was shaking madly…

Flashes kept coming to her, becoming clearer and clearer by the passing of each second. A bottle… of powerful, strong, lime-like drink… Being forcibly tossed into the bed of a truck… Cold, frigid feeling against bumping metal… Cobblestone underfoot… Up the stairs… Through the door… Onto the bed…

_And then they… _

_ Filmed it… camera…_

_ Plant… asked me to… plant… seed…sex…camera…Donovan…Archie…Rock…_

_ Rock….Rock…Rock…_

_ Rape…_

She turned her head, slowly, as the final piece of memory returned to her. Everything connected together, and ambiguity had no place. Not anymore. She could not move. She could barely breath. One after another, they had climbed on top of her and raped her. One…after…another… and each time, they changed out the handheld camcorder… Each time, they called for re-takes and positioning… All the while, she lay there, incapacitated beyond the ability to resist… unable to fight back… unable to make sense of what was happening to her… s

_Rock…took me…and…and…_

"Raped me…" Pamela breathed. Alissa gasped. "Drugged me…at the party…called it 'Sunshine…' and took me…to his farm…and then, all three….raped me…recorded it… laughed… and then made me… made me…" She began to sob again, as the memory of the houseplant came back to her… as the memory of their suggestions came back to her… _Fuck the plant! Come on, fuck the plant! Fuck it nice… Smile for the camera, Pamela! _Had she? Had she…smiled…for the camera?

Alissa was standing now. She was running across the room, and had snatched up her cellular. Pamela could hear the electronic buttons typing away at fast speed, and she could feel the anger rage in every breath that Alissa took… and at the same time, she could hear another sound. A police siren, outside of the apartment. It sounded a little distant.

"Yes! Hello, this is Alissa Jagner, psychology student on campus. I need you to contact the GCPD, this is urgent. I'm sitting here with a friend of mine…she's been raped, and she has names. Please, call the GCPD… no…. no, what the hell are you talking about!? No..ye-no! Yes, I am being serious-"

The police siren was getting closer and closer. It had become very loud now. Through the dimly shaded window, Pamela could see blue and red flashing.

"-I… listen, shut the fuck up and _listen_! We've had a rape! A real rape, okay. Yes… her name… Pamela Isley-"

Shutting door. Footsteps on the gravel, joined with several loud voices outside. All the while, Pamela sat stock still, staring at the wall relentlessly…clawing at the floor relentlessly…

_Raped me… raped me… took me and raped me and made me…made me do things… made me do things….!_

Knock, knock…and one could suppose, another knock more.

_In honor of You_

_Bad men wear white robes and smile_

_Jingling bribes in full _

Alissa, who was still arguing with campus police, saw the flashing lights and, exhaling hard, threw the phone aside and pulled open the door. Officer Keith Patterson (according to his identification) nodded at Alissa, and, eyeballing over her shoulder, noted the still slightly filthy Pamela, catatonic upon the floor, ivy spread all over the place. Only vaguely (needing to maintain professionalism) did he acknowledge with his eyes that Alissa Jagner had answered the door completely nude. From behind him, people were wolf-whistling and craning to get better looks, while others were fiddling around with their phones…

"That was fast?" Alissa seemed to almost ask, wide-eyed. Officer Patterson shook his head.

"I'm here for your friend, actually. Seems like this whole house is nothing but a bunch of indecent exposers. You call campus police?"

"Yes, I just got off the phone and they wouldn't listen to me. They said I was making stuff up."

"Well, I just got a call in from a maintenance worker and a few students on campus who say that that one there was running nude across the durn place. And now we got you answering the door in yer birthday suit. Damn it, woman… So, then, here is our little felon." He nodded firmly at Pamela, who seemed to be lost in something beyond contemporary reality. Alissa nodded, her lip trembling.

"Yes. She told me everything. Officer, last night she was drugged by three men at a party that we were attending. They took her back to one of their homes and raped her. Please, we have to call the GCPD _now_!"

"Now just hold on one minute," Patterson said calmly, holding up his jazz hands. He shook his head, his eyes filled with disbelief. "Now who exactly did this? That come from her mouth, did it?" He nodded at Pamela again. "You know she has a history, right?"

"Excuse me, she's not making this up!" Alissa spluttered, her face turning savage. "She's not making this up at all! I know the three who did it. Otto Rock, Donovan Ventimago, and Archibald Helan-"

"Again," Patterson said, more firmly as he cut across her, "do you realize that this woman has a history of lying, assault and-"

"Who the fuck are you that you're not listening to me!?" Alissa almost screamed in the man's face. Patterson shook his head.

"Now, now, I don't want to have to arrest you, too… why don't you…come on, let me see her… Go put some britches on before I have to take you in with her." He pushed his way past her, shoving her to the side, firmly against the door. Alissa looked around in shock at the officer, who stood before the absent Pamela and said, "Up. You are under arrest for indecent exposure in the public. I'd like for you to come with me and we'll get you-"

"Who the hell do you think you are!?" Alissa exclaimed, slamming the door and grabbing a pink bathrobe from her couch. "I'm trying to tell you that she was drugged and raped. They left her in the woods, damn it! They left her in a ditch!"

But Patterson was pulling Pamela forcibly upright, who went with it without the slightest defiance: she was gone. Unavailable. Please leave a message…

"You're Alissa Jagner, correct?" Patterson asked her as he linked handcuffs across Pamela's wrists, whose head had fallen at her side. Her eyes were twitching.

"Yes! And take those off of her, she hasn't done anything wrong!"

"I need to borrow this." He yanked a blanket from her bed and draped it around Pamela's body, and promptly began to march Pamela to the door. Alissa followed after, demanding that he release his hostage.

"She was raped! She was raped!"

"Quiet," Patterson snapped, forcing her out the door, to a barrage of camera phones and whoopings from every direction. Torrents of laughter. Pamela was forced into the back of his black SUV and shielded all too slowly from the large crowd that had built up around the apartment complex. Alissa was running at the officer, shouting at him for reason… until one malevolent spectator, a dark-skinned woman in red, leapt forward and yanked Alissa's loose-hanging bathrobe down. Everyone's cameras went back up at once as Alissa Jagner was suddenly exposed within the middle of the large crowd, utterly horrified as she struggled to cover herself. Officer Jackass, meanwhile, was smiling softly as he climbed into the SUV, ignoring the scene taking place outside of the tinted windows as he drove away. Down the hill from the apartment complex and across central campus, to the far north side where the campus police station awaited.

"Don't worry, Pamela," Patterson told her calmly. "You'll get used to it. That' just the way things work in Gotham…aint it?"

Pamela said nothing. Was unable to say anything… had lost the ability to form words…

What were words?

What was… a what?

What…?

Wha…

Wh…..

W…..

…

"You must stop dropping in late like this," Quincy Sharp berated Bruce, as he and the Dark Knight walked down the long, dark hall of Intensive Isolation 3B. Security cameras dotted the metallic walls every ten feet. Motion sensors analyzed their every move. A host of security stood at the ready on either side. Ahead, a massive bulkhead awaited, which read **ISOLATION 17AA9CH3- CAUTION: HIGHLY DANGEROUS INCARCERATION APPLICATIONS INVOLVING DEADLY FORCE PAST THIS POINT. **In an office above, Chief of Security Aaron Cash activated the bulkhead, and said into an intercom, "I'm giving you fifteen minutes. Then I come in to check."

"An hour, Sharp," growled Bruce firmly, as the massive steel doors began to scrape across the floor, slowly, allowing them to see the dark elevator shaft within. Sharp sighed.

"Give him sixty minutes, and that is _all_ he gets," he called to Cash. "And we're going to be listening _in_."

"Do what you want," said Bruce, stepping into the darkness and onto the awaiting, grated elevator. The doors closed behind him, and immediately the elevator plunged down, down, down into the black depths, cold and forgotten down here. At the bottom, Security Coordination Assistant Jeffery Blackwood awaited him, waving cheerfully at the Batman as he stepped off into the dark chamber, where many, many windowless cell doors aligned the walls.

Bruce stepped carefully, noting the electrical pacification panels that made up the floor. Any of his highly volatile gadgetry could easily set the pacification defenses off, and he would be tasting 50,000 volts. "Come on, Batman!" the youthful man said cheerfully, looking beyond excited to be on a mission with the Dark Knight himself. "The clown's down this way. We have him in Special Interrogation. Five tons of 20 by 20 enclosure, all reinforced, bulletproof glass, suspended over a one-hundred foot chasm. Gotta take a special lift down into it."

"How is he? Tell me about his mood."

Blackwood shivered. "When we told him that you were coming for a visit, he got really excited, really fast. Said he'd celebrate by raping my three year old daughter and cannibalizing her face while he did it… Hell, Batman, I never even told him I had a daughter, or that she was three…or her name… or the scar she has on her right ankle… I don't know how he does it, but he gets in your mind. Knows everything there is to know about you. But he doesn't scare me. He aint getting out."

"He just wants to unnerve you. It's his way of passing the time," Bruce assured the man. He clenched his fist. "That the lift?" A glass elevator awaited them down a flight of steps to the right. Blackwood nodded.

"Just press the red button once inside. I don't want to look at him."

"I can take it from here." Bruce took to the steps and approached the glass elevator, connected by a rail line that descended down into exactly what Blackwood had described. The massive, encased, hanging interrogation room was new to him, a recent addition that truly made it seem as if he had entered another world. As he entered the elevator, he could see through the one-way glass that the Joker was already seated at a well-cushioned couch, chained to steel poles that rendered movement almost impossible. Across from this couch, a comfortable looking armchair. As the elevator descended, he saw the Joker look up, right in his direction, with that terrible, beaming smile plastered across his snow-white face and crimson lips. Even though the elevator made no sound, and the glass from within that room rendered visibility to the outside impossible, he still knew that Bruce was coming…

_At least with Blackwood left behind, I can handle this in my own way._

The Joker beamed at him as he entered the enclosure. Bruce inhaled deeply, and let it flow slowly.

"Evening," he offered calmly.

"Darling…where've you been?" the Joker whispered passionately. "You've left old Merriweather alone for quite some time…" Was that some form of Western parody, that accent? "Hee heh…" It suddenly shifted to John Wayne. "Why not come and sit on my lap, partner, you cocky son of a bitch, and I'll give you the old Rooster Cock-a-Doodle-Doo!" He burst into a fit of nonsensical giggles, and shook wildly against his restraints as Bruce approached.

"I need you to listen…and talk when I tell you to talk," he warned the Joker in a dark, firm, and divine authoritarian voice. "Do you understand?"

"Oh, Bats… Bats, Bats, Bats…" the Joker whispered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "You know it impossible for me to please the mammalian commands without bloodshed, a cup of English tea and dinner with a show at the Iceberg. Come now, try again. What do you want from me, Bats?"

Bruce took a seat at the chair, and faced the smiling lunatic calmly.

"Pamela Isley."

The Joker gasped excitedly, bobbing his head left and right. "P-p-p-p-p-Pamela? Isley? Pamela, and then Isley? Or, Isley, and then Pamela? Who knows?" He shrugged, as if he did. "Poison Ivy seems more professional, Bats."

"Poison Ivy?"

"Why, yes! Called herself that, a few times, during the transactions that I just know you're dying to talk to me about… just like that poor employee of mine who tried to put the moves on our dear, beloved redhead of interest. Gave him a kiss we'll never forget... But between just you and me, Bats…" He leaned forward, as much as his restraints could allow. "_She's crazy…_"

"You were buying from Isley recently. Buying canisters loaded with powerful plant toxins. You used them in your last heist at the Gotham Second, when I caught you. Fifteen bank employees dead, with mutated plant life growing out of their bodies… We've linked the canisters found at your hold-up to files we discovered in the home of Jason Woodrue. What I want to know is where you were conducting business, and what you know about Jason Woodrue."

The Joker grinned. "Oh, Bats… chess, is it? Very well. Dark Knight to Bishop. And by Bishop, I mean Kalvin Bishop."

Bruce frowned. _Kalvin Bishop?_

"He never went by Woodrue… not in the early deals, where he was involved. Kalvin Bishop, he liked that name… and we liked him. But then he vanishes one day, and instead, she becomes the new supplier of 'Ivy's Eden Remnants…' Truly, the woman had no creativity in the naming."

"Tell me about Woodrue."

"Oh, I'll tell you all about him, Bats… but first, you have to give me something in return."

"And what would that be?"

The Joker grinned widely. "I want you…to be my best friend…forever."


	5. Chapter 5

"Promise me we can still be friends after you've left me tonight," Pamela Isley asked Fredericks softly as she cradled his mutilated torso, the man whimpering in agony every time she forcibly ran her finger across the letters she had written into his flesh: **POISON IVY. **"Promise me…that you and I… will always be connected, our hearts as one. Not unlike Persephone with her inevitable Hades…"

Fredericks strained against her touch, but every time he flailed, she only pulled him closer, her eyes closed in sweetest embrace. "Forget pain," she whispered in his ear. "Forget longing. Forget fear. You need it not, angel. You need it not…"

"Kill me."

She opened her eyes, which widened considerably at his words. Pamela looked at him incredulously, snorting loudly at his joke. "You kid, honey. You big kidder." She held up her hand and shaped it like a mouth (not unlike a Brontosaurus), and mimicked, in a loud, whimsical voice, "Such a kidder. Gone ask me to _keel_ heem. No, no, no, said Missus Butterwiggles-"

"KILL ME!" Fredericks screamed, actual blood pouring out through his tears. "KILL ME!"

Pamela stopped, looking upset with him now. "I was only trying to make you laugh."

"Kill me," Fredericks cried hysterically, rocking left and right against the vines that held him. "Kill me, kill me, please kill me…"

"How? How do you want me to do it?" She asked him seriously, her eyes becoming blank as they stared. "How do you want me to do it?" she whispered into his ear. "A kiss?" she asked, brushing her lips with a finger. "Kiss and kill are almost the same word, aren't they? Or do you want me to stab you…again…" She poked him in the stomach, hard. "…and again…" Another poke. "…and again…"

"K-kiss," he whispered, turning his head to face her. "Do it…quick…I can't…take it…"

"Your will wasn't supposed to break so early, baby," she whispered back to him, stroking his face lovingly. "We still had so much _fun_ awaiting us…"

"Kiss…me…please…" She honestly could not tell if he truly was saying kiss or kill. Kiss or kill, kill or kiss… Killss? Ah, killss… in the end, it spelled out 'killss…'

"I think, given the circumstances, you need to hear more of my tale, Fredericks. You need to understand why I am Poison Ivy. Have you understood yet?"

"Y-yes…yes…"

"Tell me."

"They…did…awful things to…you…and…no one…helped…"

"No one helped?" Pamela repeated quietly, staring at the far wall now. She smirked. "No one helped me…at all?"

"You…deserved better…you did…just kill me…please…"

"No one helped me at all, eh?" She shook her head, looking disappointed. "Enough is enough. Your ignorance still shows, Fredericks. I'm going to have to continue your lesson."

"No…God no…"

"Do not speak His name in my garden," Pamela hissed, and she punched him in the gut extremely hard. It was agony to him, and he screamed accordingly. "There is no God here, Fredericks. Only the Devil. But don't worry… the Devil has her imps. Always does. Because you see, I was never alone, not once. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever!" She stood up and walked about her giant plant, stroking the hanging flowers and bundles of ivy, all which responded to her touch, entwining her arms and sighing passionately with voices of their own. Many of them sprinkled pollen down upon them both, and the green light that emitted from many of the plants became more pronounced. "After those fine boys did what they did to me," she told Fredericks, holding out her arms, "everything changed." Gigantic vines descended down upon her and entwined her limbs, pulling her into the air, where she rolled about in their hold, entangling herself within their mass, until she hung on her back as if in a canopy bed. Flowers bloomed at her touch almost instantaneously, vibrant pinks and greens of unnatural appearance, until a chain reaction began to decorate the vines in colorful divinity. "But I was never alone, and this is something you must understand, Fredericks. Mother Earth would never allow me to be alone. Are you ready for your next lesson, Fredericks?"

"No…no…no…"

"Shut up," Pamela snapped violently, shaking with rage. "You become more human, more _mammal_, by the passing of each precious second. "You just cannot _see_, can you? Then what purpose are your eyes? What purpose do your eyes have? I want one."

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" He had found his scream. Found his energy, as had she. Stroking the vines before her, the thing suddenly twisted and turned, and the terrified man saw that one of them had a very sharp end to it. He continued to scream, continued to plead, but at her mental command, the vine struck like a snake, so quickly it almost did not move at all. His left eye was ripped from its socket, and delivered back to the dark master of the garden in an effort to present its triumph…

"Victory at last, eh?" Officer Patterson clanged his nightstick against the window of his SUV as he opened it to let her out. Alissa was standing on the campus police porch, her arms crossed and face red. "Get out of my car, Isley, and don't share anymore of your profane secrets with anyone on this campus again. Here's your fine." He handled Pamela a red colored slip of paper, who by now had awoken from her trance and took the paper with trembling hands. "And the Dean of Students called. He wants to meet with you, sometime this week. Give his office a call and they'll set an appointment. Make sure you get that paid within the next two weeks," he added, tapping the fine in her hand.

She left the SUV without a word, her hands trembling as she staggered forward. Alissa took her hand and led her away, but only after giving the officer a look of deepest venom. Patterson ignored her and hopped into his vehicle, all the while fingering his wallet, now filled to the brim with Otto Rock's most recent bribery. _When a man was made of money, he was God. _As he pulled out of the driveway, he stopped only briefly to roll down the window and call out, "Your video was a good one, Pamela. Keep it up."

Pamela froze in place, her heart stinging instantaneously, and Alissa looked around at him in horror, but he was already speeding away. Pamela's knees went out, and she hit the concrete hard, scraping herself…but she did not care about that. Not at all.

"What…did…he say?" she breathed.

Alissa bit her lip, her head hanging low, her eyes closed in pain. "Pamela…you don't need to see."

Pamela looked intently around at Alissa. "Yes…I _fucking_ do…"

"Please, Pamela, I don't want you to. It's…it's sick. Otto…he emailed it to me while you were in there., waiting for you… Pamela, it's sick. It's so sick…" Her eyes were glistening with fierce tears, her voice trembling. Pamela grabbed her by the arms and stared pleadingly.

"Please…" she breathed. Alissa shook her head.

"No! No, Pamela, you can't!"

"Show me!" Pamela shrieked into her face. "Now!"

Alissa silently plead with her, shaking her head desperately, but Pamela shoved her against the wall of the nearby Wesley Center, and suddenly her hands were around Alissa's throat. She did not squeeze, but nevertheless her hold were fierce, and Alissa could only look into her face in terror.

"Show-me-right-now," Pamela hissed dangerously, her eyes glinting madly, feeling hatred, revulsion and a desire to destroy pulsing through her blood. "Or I'll hurt you…badly…"

"Okay…" Alissa breathed in terror. "I'll… I'll show you, just…just let me go."

Pamela obliged and yanked her hands away. Alissa, trembling all over at the suddenness of Pamela's attack. She made quick gestures for her to follow, and the two women ducked into the abandoned Wesley, situating on the couches set up in the dark corner of the main living room, always a welcome sanctuary to students on campus. Alissa took out her phone, and, with shaking hands, fumbled around through her emails. Pamela rocked back and forth in agitation, thinking every second spent searching was another thing taken from her… another damn thing taken from her…

_Pamela, baby, we're going to send you to get help. We just can't let this behavior continue-_

_ Pamela, we're going to be taking you into our custody. Coreman's Ridge is the only place left for you at this point-_

_ Pamela, your parents… I'm so sorry-_

_ Pamela, you're being issued a fine for public indecency and we've put you on the probation awareness list for-_

_ Pamela, they emailed it! EMAILED IT, PAMELA! TO ME! TOOOO MEEEEEE! WHEEEEEEEEEEEE! EMAILED IT, EMAILED IT, SO ALL THE WORLD CAN SEEEEEEEEEEE!_

_ Pamela!?_

_ Pamela?_

_ Pam? _

_ P-_

"H-here," Alissa sobbed, thrusting the phone into her hands.

_Pornhub_, read the title of the streamer. The title of the video: "College bitch gets fucked by three guys and then does a plant…" When the video began, Pamela's entire body froze. She watched, as, second after second, a naked, drugged her lay on a bed that she now remembered belonging to Otto Rock. She watched as, one by one, each of the three men who had promised her fun climbed atop her delirious body and raped her…watched as she simple lay, almost fully unconscious, encouraging nothing of their acts… and as the video progressed, an obvious voiceover to the trained ear sounded off: A woman gasping and moaning in pleasure, hissing for "more…"; romantic sounds, passionate grunts… None of those voices belonged to anyone in the video… none of them…

She watched as they encouraged her to delve deeper into paraphilia with a house plant, watched aspulled at the green stems and violated _herself_…

Bile. Vomit. All of it came to her, and released upon the Wesley floor. Alissa's phone dropped from her hand. The username of the video simply said, "RockOfAHardPlace."

Rock…

_Otto Rock…you did it. You truly did…it…I'll kill you…I'LL KILL YOU…_

"I'll kill him…" she hissed, pulling hard at strands of hair. She flung herself from the couch, and Alissa watched her go in terror and uncertainty, shaking madly as Pamela threw open the doors and savagely marched away, shouting again, "I'LL KILL HIM!"

"She killed him, just like that," the Joker giggled, blowing a loud raspberry as he scribbled upon a sheet of paper with green crayons. His scene depicted a very cartoonish looking redhead, doing a waltz on three corpses. "I told him, I said, 'Johnny, you won't survive it. Just keep your distance, man, I'm telling you'… Oh, the poor bastard, he just couldn't take a hint… Even when I grabbed Isley's head and forced her darling lips against Johnny, he still didn't fight off the advance, Bats. Not that she was too thrilled about being used like that, but Johnny had stolen my muffin that morning and-"

"Knock knock."

The Joker stopped and went wild eyed. His grin was so marvelous. "Who's there, Bats?"

"Talk!"

"Talk who?"

"Talk you…"

The Joker frowned. "Now see Bats, that wasn't really a good joke because-" _FAM! _The Joker's jaw disjointed at once and the clown went spinning across the couch. Bruce had broken the chain restraints for this exact purpose. The Joker hit the floor and began laughing wildly. "Oh, Bats, will you marry m-me?" He could not stop giggling… he could never stop giggling…

"According to logs found in the remains of Woodrue's Gotham home," Bruce said, standing over him, "Isley and Woodrue were both supplying enhanced poisons to your gang for at least one year before the transactions end. Woodrue vanishes off the face of the Earth… But according to those logs, he was indebted to you. Indebted by means of supply. You supplied the essential elements, ordered an enhanced strain of Nyrox Omega, a powerful neurotoxin. The last shipment cost you $50,000, under Woodrue's specifications… he never delivered. You never received the payment."

"You're boring me," the Joker sang, wagging a disappointed finger. His vivid green eyes stared right in Bruce's soul, even as he sported his busted lip. "Boring me…"

"I know you don't like being stiffed. Did you ever go after him?"

"Did I?" The Joker puckered his lips and held a finger against them. "May-ay-ay-ay-beeeeeeee…"

"You had to. You know why?" Bruce reached into his diverse utility belt, pulling out a folded sheet of paper from one of the pouches. "Because of this…" Written across the top of the paper in fine black penmanship were the words **Joker Situation. **Beneath this, a bulleted list of incidents:

**Thursday, May 30: Sent collector to the door with a shotgun. Managed to talk the goon into giving me a late notice with a ten percent interest by the end of the week. **

**Friday, May 31: Received package at the door, painted purple with a green ribbon. Inside, the severed head of the collector sent to my door yesterday. In his mouth, a note from the Joker: "Don't try to joke around with the Joker. Tonight. All of it. **

**Saturday, June 1: A male child's scalp found hanging above my doorstep. Police called in. Brunette child. Attached, a new note from the Joker: "This one brown…next one red. TONIGHT." I have no relation to whatever child donated his scalp for the Joker's second message, but I have no doubt that he means Pamela. It would seem that Gotham is no longer safe for me. I'll have to head out soon… I'll take out a loan today and deliver it to the Joker's collectors. I need to maintain our business until I've disposed of Pamela and built up enough stock to move forward with my next phase. After all loose ends taken care of, I'll send Joker my regards. The GCPD will thank me for decades to come, whispering the name of their invisible hero… **

"A few months after writing this, Woodrue vanished," said Bruce darkly. "But your base of operations was destroyed. A bomb, left in the street by an unknown assailant. It was chalked up to turf issues. Now isn't that funny…"

"He…sent…that bomb?" The Joker sat frozen and shivering. Then, he threw his head back and guffawed loudly, clapping his feet together. "Now _that_ is funny! I see, I see… and I only sent my assassins after the bastard because he insulted my shoes during our last transaction! Turns out he blew us all to smithereeeeeeeeeens! Hee hee heh heh heh ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Bruce bent forward and hoisted the Joker up by the neck, growling menacingly into his face. "Where did you send those assassins!?"

"Oh, Bats, don't be silly! To his Gotham resident, of course, but by then it was all _smashed_ up!" He growled menacingly. "Then we went next door…asked the family of four if they were hiding Woodrue beneath their beds. They said no, of course, but I wanted to check to make sure. So we gunned them down and all, but guess what… _he wasn't under the bed!_" His face went wide with surprise. "Well, if he wasn't hiding under the bed, then he sure as hell wasn't in Gotham, that's what I concluded. But don't worry, Bats…" Bruce was suddenly looking murderous, and his hand gripped the Joker by the throat. "That family of four made me feel all better…"

"_Why_!?"

"Because it was fun," the Joker replied, boredly, looking angry that his adversary did not understand. "However, I did find out one interesting thing…" He lowered his voice. "Woodrue sure had a lot of maps in his home, Bats. Maps of the Sotton Cove…"

Bruce frowned. _What? _"I never saw maps of the Sotton Cove…"

"That's because you're a fish, and I'm a big pelican that snatches up all your little friends. Namely, maps, because let's face it, Bats… what living friends do you have besides me?"

Bruce threw the Joker down hard, and exhaled deeply. _The Sotton Cove? That's in-_

"Master Bruce?" Right on cue. Alfred's voice sounded inside of Bruce's cowl, and he promptly tapped the button on the side of it, saying, "I'm with the Joker. Go ahead."

"Oh, ghastly…"

The Joker began to sniff at the air like a dog, wagging his tongue. "Who's there, Batman!?" he whispered urgently.

"I've finished my analysis of the federal database linked to no-fly zones within a one-hundred mile radius, as you requested… There were none linked to Woodrue or any private-"

"BATS!" The Joker screamed, jumping up and getting right in Bruce's ear. "WHO IS ON THE LINE!? HELLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!?"

Bruce's fist struck backwards, and the Joker fell back, letting out a little _umph_ as he hit the couch, dazed and nearly unconscious now, and blood squirted from his nostrils.

"Continue."

"Yes, Master Bruce. Thank you for taking care of that bampot. Now, I ran the name Woodrue and a few other variations, and found something rather interesting, namely, the identification of an 80-acre property settled within the Sotton Cove Highlands, near the Pacific coast, straight shot west of Portland, Oregon. The property is the home to Zodiac Shire Manor, which is owned by the Woodrue family. Now, I ran records on Mr. Woodrue to make sure we didn't have a case of mistaken surname, since Woodrue is fairly common. Robert Jason Woodrue was indeed educated at Sotton Academia, one of the most prestigious institutions in the country. His family is based there, running seventeen different vineyards across western California as well as an oil distribution network near Vancouver."

"This confirms it, then," said Bruce, feeling relief wash over him and pass away the anxious thoughts that had consumed him for a moment. "The Joker himself just confirmed that Woodrue had had maps pertaining to the lands around Sotton Cove in his home when he had come calling. That's where Woodrue escaped to. His family, influential as they are, secured a no-fly zone, and being in the Sotton, it's very desolate in regards to exterior interference. It would be the perfect place for him to escape."

"And he's been there, then, keeping a low profile… very well, shall we look into buying you a plane ticket to Oregon, then?"

"Yes. I need a flight that leaves tomorrow, then."

"I'll see it done. Are you heading home, then?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

He disconnected from the transceiver, and nodded at the Joker. "Thank you," he offered. "You did well. Let's meet again sometime, within this hospital…" He stepped forward and stood over the half-conscious, giggling maniac. "Because if you escape again…" He bent down threateningly. "…you won't have the chance to kill another family."

"I love you too, babe," the Joker whispered crazily, erupting into a hysterical bout of laughter. That terrible laughter continued all the way throughout Bruce's journey back up to the sane levels that were outside of Arkham Asylum. Back into the cold, smooth air, and into the great unknown…


	6. Chapter 6

"I said I'd kill them," Pamela told Fredericks, absentmindedly pulling his stolen eye from out of her mouth, which she had casually been suckling as she strained her mind to find the next bit of detail to share with the man. "And when I said it, I had meant it with all of my heart. At least, in the mental sense. In the physical… well, I was trying to turn my life around, make a name for myself. Why would I jeopardize that with murder? No… no, I never had the _intention _of murdering those _bastards_… But I nevertheless had my own plans for vengeance, didn't I, Fredericks?"

Fredericks was fully unconscious by this point. The shock of everything he had endured at her hands had broken him now. He had not the strength or ability to stay aware. "Fredericks?" Realize that he was out, she grinned, and proceeded thusly to fondle the man, sizing up all aspects of his body and imagining just how she would instruct upon him her next lesson. She felt in her heart that she knew exactly what to cut off next…

"Nevertheless…" She stood and left him, allowing the vines to ascend her on high. The ornate window of the abandoned Mason Botanical gave her a gorgeous view of Gotham's brightly lit and energetic entertainment district. Two casinos blocked her view of the Aztec Greenery, a colossal, pyramid-like greenhouse with thousands of varieties of plant-life within. She would demolish them both…with everyone inside. "…would you remember anything I teach you tonight, Fredericks, if I kept on telling you everything…?" she whispered to herself, clawing at the window. "I hardly remember it myself… and yet I remember it all… and yet I don't…"

"Isn't that why you need someone to remind you, Pam?" A voice from the thick brush to her right suddenly spoke up, and Pamela smiled.

"You're back…" She looked around. "I wasn't expecting you back for a few more days…"

"Got into a little bit of stint. Had to run for my life. Vacation cut…short…you know, due to me cutting a few people…"

"Cut them? That's tame. You're losing your edge," said Pamela, turning back to the window.

"Well, it's not as if I had time to do things the right way, did I? They had guns and there were fifteen of them." The newcomer stepped out of the brush. Beautiful, striking, she was a golden flower among the greenery, yellow-gold curls situated beneath a tight green headband. Her green croptop was laced in ivy from Pamela's paradise, her black high-heeled boots shredded in several spots.

"I brought you a souvenir," the woman said, holding out a black crocodile-leather wallet, stuffed with hundreds of dollars in cash. "Compliments of my latest kill…"

Pamela snatched the wallet out of her hand happily, grinning from ear to ear, and flipped through the darling pocketbook. The bloodied identification card showed a balding, middle aged man with droopy eyes. **Arnold Jaster**, it read. "Ugly," she hissed, and her friend snorted.

"He smelled funny. Kind of like, I don't know, _old_ _tobacco_. Does that make sense?"

"Hardly," Pamela whispered, dropping the wallet into the lagoon below. Her friend watched in horror and irritation.

"Why!? I counted it, Pamela! There was $15,400 in cash alone! That doesn't include the American Express and the-"

Pamela spun around at once and struck like a snake, her hand gripping the woman by the neck tightly, who gasped aloud, her eyes widening.

"Shhh," Pamela whispered. "Don't talk…"

"L-l-lemme go…" The woman was gasping, shaking against Pamela's powerful hold. Pamela shook her head.

"No, I'm _enjoying _this…"

"P-please…"

Pamela released her, and tossed her onto the floor. Glowering at the woman, she said, "Do you know where I was tonight?"

"Y-yes! Yes, I d-do! I had heard about it… I was so scared, Pamela!"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Pamela wrenched out a foot and slammed it across the woman's face, sending her spiraling dangerous towards the ledge of the upper deck upon which they stood. She almost went over and down into the lagoon. Blood flew from the woman's busted nose. "CALL ME BY MY NAME!"

"I-Ivy!" the woman shrieked, cradling in terror as she sported her bleeding face. "Ivy! I'm sorry, Ivy!"

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE I WAS!?" Pamela screamed, and as she did, her vines swept down upon her and entwined at her silent call, while others hissed angrily at the woman, hovering over her and striking forward in the air like angry snakes.

"You were…arrested… by Batman…" The woman had fallen face-down and was in an almost worshipable pose. "Forgive me…"

"DO YOU KNOW HOW I WAS ARRESTED!?"

"B-because…"

"BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T THERE! BECAUSE YOU DECIDED TO TAKE A VACATION AT THE PEAK OF OUR LARGEST MOVEMENT! BECAUSE YOU FORGOT WHERE YOUR OBLIGATIONS LIE!"

"I didn't think…you'd need my help…"

Pamela shook her head. "Silence. What good have you been this year, Toxica? What good have you been to Mother Earth at all? You, who deny her your full attention?"

"Pam- Ivy-" But Pamela had caught the start of the usage of _that_ name, and thus, by her mental command, the vines struck and swooped Toxica into the air, flailing her about ravenously as the woman screamed, Pamela's head wrenched back in psychotic, energetic laughter. She glanced down at Frederick lying on the plant below…and saw that he had awoken, staring up at the scene in terror with his one remaining eye. Pamela sighed in relief.

"Finally." She struck out an arm, and immediately the vines followed her command, dragging Toxica screaming into the darkness above. _Later, Toxica. I'll speak more with you later. _She then leapt forward, diving from the platform confidently and into the poisonous, putrid lagoon, overwhelmed with the most toxic chemicals imaginable, which she breathed in joyously, even as her vines came for her and delivered her back to the surface, and back to where Fredericks lay.

She landed before him, dripping and soaked at every inch in poison, and she immediately began to circle her prey. Fredericks was whimpering uncontrollably as each fleck of poison dripped near him… He had long since given up his desire to be killed: he knew now that she would never kill him so easily as she had the bailiff and Kroker…

"Had a nice nap?"

Fredericks said nothing. He could not say anything. Pamela shook her head, sighing.

"If you don't answer me now, I'll cut of your dick. Then, I'll proceed to remove your feet, and then afterwards-"

"I-had-a nice nap…yes…" Fredericks strained, his breath ragged and weak. Pamela smiled. "Good boy," she said.

She proceeded to lean against the back end of the giant plant, and, sighing deeply, said, "So, as I was saying… after I saw Alissa's email, why, I obsessed with the idea of vengeance on my behalf. I wanted to see them broken and humiliated… I wanted to see them hurt…"

It had hurt, but only for the briefest of moments. When she had swung the crowbar, she had missed on the first swing and cracked her shin with it. But she did not care: the pain was pleasure at this point. Madly, grinning almost demonically, she swung the thing against, and this time, the padlock broke free from the door. Happily, giggling insanely, Pamela wrenched open the side door that led into the janitor's closet from the outside of the biology building (and thus, to the rest of the building). The night was cold and rainy… but she wore a simple green dress and nothing more, embracing the cold rain and wind upon her almost completely unshielded skin.

_Pitter patter, pitter patter_ down the hall with wet tracks. The halls were pitch black, save for a security light here and there, abandoned and ghostly. But she liked ghosts now. She liked _hauntings_ now…

Lab 3A. Botanical Analysis and Experimentation. A home away from home, she had had her first botany class in this room, a wide-spread lab of flowers and lilypads, of cellular examinations and vegetables… and its practical sessions often took them to the grand greenhouse outside, a jungle within a concrete world.

The lab felt more…_yessness_, when abandoned and at her personal disposal. She immediately went for the samples encased near the back. Labels told many stories, namely: _Cannabis, Fittonia albivenis, Lophophora williamsii, Papaver somniferum… _Hallucinogens. Beautiful, god-like in their form, truly divine hallucinogens.

_I'm going to break them…. I'm going to destroy their names…_

_ You're going to rip their reputations asunder…_

_ They'll be less than human…_

_ They won't even qualify, nope. _

_ And when I upload the videos, they'll suffer the same humiliation they have wrought upon me…_

_ FUCK THEM OVER GOOD, PAMELA!_

_ I WILL THRIVE IN THEIR PUBLIC MISERY!_

_ YOU WILL BE A GODDESS OVER THEIR NAMES!_

_ I WILL MAKE THEM NOTHING. _

She collapsed.

Clawing at the encased perfections, she stood and cried for the longest time, her body shaking as her tears fell. She wanted to scream. She wanted to smash. But all she could do was stand there, before these powerful, mind-altering plants, and sob into a crumples mess upon the floor. It hurt. It hurt so much. Her body felt broken, her heart ripped asunder. Her chest was in so much pain from how much her entire life had hurt. _Why? Why did I deserve this? WHAT DID I DO!? WHAT DID I DO!? I was a good student. I studied every day, I answered every question, I made people think about the principals of existence! I TRIED, DAMN IT! I TRIED SO HARD! WHY!? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!? _

Fumbling hands and shaking body, she sobbed hysterically as she worked at the table, grinding up the plant matters… compositing _Jayrox 9_ with _FLC-17B_… Words, numbers, letters, so many things scrambled about in her mind as she worked relentlessly into the night, sweating endlessly, her tears mingling with the waters of her labor…

_I'll kill them through humiliation. I'll never lay a finger on them… I'll never lay a finger on them… _

A flash in her mind. Otto Rock, strung up by a metal wire, nude, and mostly skinned…he was alive, and screaming… She felt a pang downstairs. A soft, gentle pang: arousal. But she shook her head fiercely, forcing the disgusting thought from her mind, her hands fumbling clumsily as she poured _Ucyclomaede-24_ into a mixture with powdered _Fittonia albivenis… _

Another flash in her mind. Archibald Helan, castrated in full, bleeding to death from the massive hole where his filthy penis once attached to his pelvic regions, his eyes missing, flies laying maggot eggs in the wounds that decorated him… She tried to force the thought away again…barely did so… The compound billowed out deadly scarlet smoke, but Pamela Isley did not care. She scrapped the mess into a biological containment unit and started from scratch, all over again…

Another flash. Donovan Ventimago, skin a deadly shade of green, vomiting mass amounts of toxic matter as his eyes melted and demons drug him into a flaming hole, deep within the hell of the earth… She closed her eyes, spilling the deadly contents all over the tabletop, her body trembling as she fell to the floor, her head twisting back… That thought…it was too…

_No, it's not beautiful! No, it's not beautiful! I can't be thinking like this…_

Her hand was fondling herself… fantasizing about these very thoughts… 

_STOP IT, PAMELA!_ she screamed at herself within. _STOP IT NOW!_

_ Why, Pamela? Isn't it pleasurable to think of the hell that awaits the damned?_

_ LEAVE ME ALONE!_

_ I'll never leave you alone…_ This time, it was not that deep, buried, feminine voice within that she had always referred to as "Ivy…" No… this time, the voice had changed. It was the voice of Otto Rock. _I bet you wanted me to fuck you, you just couldn't admit it. You loved it, what I did…you enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of a good rape, didn't you? _

"STOP IT!" Pamela screamed aloud, crazily, wildly slamming her fists against the tables. She leapt to her feet, and screaming in rage, began to smash the room with all of her rage, beakers flying in every direction and cases of plant matter exploding glass everywhere. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" she sobbed, falling forward onto the shards of glass. Her sobs were joined with screams of pain as her legs were shredded, inch by inch… "STOP IT!" she hissed. "STOP IT…"

"Stop it, please," Bruce Wayne asked the small child sitting behind him, as he caught in his hand the fifth peanut that the small boy had released at the back of his head in the last five minutes. "Four times in fun…five times is punishment. Consider this last one a freebie, son." His intense blue eyes burned into the small boy a look of deepest, darkest warning… and the boy shrunk into a salted slug-like form, curling in fear against his snoring mother.

The first class was decently comfortable, with strong billowing of cold AC comforting the back of his head from his chair… However, oddly enough, air conditioning like this just did not seem to have it for him anymore. He blamed a situation one year before. Being frozen into a solid block of ice left wonders on physical preferences. Thank you, Victor Fries.

A cell phone call. "This is Wayne."

"Hey, Bruce…" A young man's voice, and one disapproving at that. Bruce smiled. He had expected this call. Looking around, he saw that most of the passengers were headphone bound or else asleep, but nevertheless, he stood and walked down the way, stealing away into the bathroom.

"Before you say anything," said Bruce, "yes, I told Alfred to keep this one silent from you. I needed someone who could take care of Gotham while I was gone, and I knew you'd argue with me."

Richard Grayson did not sound satisfied. On the contrary, "Robin" intensified the frustration in his voice. "Permission to remind you of the last major outing you partook on your own, Bruce, and why we agreed that afterward, you'd use me for all future endeavors of this magnitude?"

"Denied. The only reason Jones got the upper hand on that one, need I remind you, is because _you_ decided to give _me_ a call at the wrong moment. Cell phone calls and giant crocodile hunts in the sewers do _not_ match, Dick."

"Nonetheless, you should have told either me or Barbara. She's pretty pissed, Bruce."

"She'll get over it, and so will you," said Bruce shortly. "I've got a strong lead on Woodrue's apprehension and I have it all worked out."

"How the hell do you have it worked out when you haven't even seen the security in place? He's going to have it up the ass, Bruce."

"I anticipate it. That's why I brought the essentials. The terminal modifier has been tested on fifty-seven different security systems across the nation alone. It will work."

"Bruce, this one concerns me, alright. He's going to hightail it if there's one mistake."

"And I'll be the one to live with it," Bruce reminded him firmly. Dick, however, was not impressed.

"Alfred wants to send you the jet. He asked me to meet you in Portland."

"A little late for that one. I'm an hour away from Portland. Anyway, I told him no. It's still damaged from Crane's bomb, and I don't trust it for this kind of trek right now. I'm not going to need it, anyway. Woodrue may be a killer, but he's hardly Croc or the Joker. I'll be in and out with all the information I need. After tonight, there won't be anything stopping us from apprehending her."

"And what makes you think Woodrue will lead you to Isley?"

Bruce smiled. "Simple. They were in business together, and that machine discovered in Woodrue's home is linked to a series of mutagens associated with Isley's murders. Most likely, according to the evidence we found in his home, Woodrue tried to have her killed and failed. He'll be wanting to keep tabs on her, so he can ensure his sanctuary continues. But it doesn't matter if all of this fails to lead us any closer to discovering Isley's whereabouts or not… Woodrue has to face charges for the murders _he's_ been responsible for. I'm going to drag him back to Gotham and dump him on the GCPD stairs. Gordon will take him out from there."

"And you realize that the Zodiac Shire estate is a mini-nation, right?"

"The term is 'micro nation,' Dick."

"Zodiac Shire isn't bound by official U.S. law as long as Woodrue is on that property."

"He'll be leaving that property," Bruce promised.

"How you gonna do it?" A new voice, that of a young woman.

"Good to hear from you too, Barbara. And the answer is simple. He can either come quietly or unconscious. It really isn't that complicated. Bottom line is that Woodrue's guilty of mass murder and illegal trade with a known terrorist."

"And you're positive you can handle his security systems?" Barbara Gordon asked testily, sounding uncertain and annoyed.

"You looked into it, haven't you?"

"No. As a matter of fact, for all intents and purposes, the Zodiac Shire Manor doesn't exist on federal mandatory record. I hacked into their primary database with Alfred. Neither of us could find a record of Woodrue's security systems."

"In the end, I don't think it will be his security systems that I'll have to be careful of," said Bruce. "More of the man behind him. It's obvious Woodrue's a psychopath. But then again, that seems to be my area of specialty, doesn't it? A crazy for a crazy."

"Youd' better keep your damn radio on, Bruce," Barbara warned him darkly. "I want you in full contact the entire time."

"You focus on Gotham. Let me focus on Woodrue. Dick's going to need your help managing the city while I'm gone."

"Bruce!"

There came a knock on the door. "Excuse me, is there someone in there? I really have to piss."

"Just a moment, I'm coming," Bruce called. "Later, Barbara. Dick."

"Bruce!" he heard them both exclaimed, but smiling sheepishly, he disconnected and allowed the elderly lady into the bathroom.

_Nothing to worry about_, he assured himself. _Not at all. _

He glanced up at the electronic board above the seats. **Estimated Arrival- Portland, OR: 42 minutes. Passengers please be aware of landing protocols. **

Nearly fifty minutes later, the plane touched down at Portland International Airport, and Bruce Wayne descended into his oncoming, almost expected nightmare…

"Nightmares?" asked Dr. Stefan, tapping onto his laptop quickly. "Describe them to me."

"I… I don't want to…" Pamela breathed into the couch-arm. "Can't I just get away with telling you I'm having them constantly and move on to the next part of my fucked up life…?"

"No, Pamela. I need to know about your nightmares because we have to understand them. We have to understand the source of the problem. I want to help you, but you have to help yourself in order for me to do that."

"Okay, fine," she replied quickly and nastily. "Okay, okay, fine, fine! Alright, here we go! Um, yeah, let's see, let's _really_ fucking see! I was raped as a toddler, and got hooked on drugs at the age of three, and um, oh yeah, I watched my mother get stabbed to death in front of me by a terrorist, and-"

"Pamela!" Stefan cut across quickly, looking agitated. "I'm being serious, and so should you. Do you want these nightmares continuing?"

"I didn't ask for this, Stefan!" she exploded at him, throwing her arms out in anger. "I was _raped_! I was raped and nobody will listen! NOBODY! All they want to talk about is public indecent exposure and how I'm always standing around the greenhouse with a dumb expression on my face! OF COURSE I FUCKING DO, IT'S THE ONLY PLACE THAT MAKES ANY GODD-"

He held up a hand before she said that disgusting word. "Listen, Pamela… I believe you. Alright!? I _believe _you… and I am going to do everything I can to help you. Coreman's is going to help you find a lawyer. Administrator Kane is speaking with Dean Nolan about what happened. And the GCPD has been informed."

"Oh, I _feel_ better, then, don't I?" She crossed her arms and turned her back to him, burying her face into the back of the couch. "So." She punched at the couch. "Much." Again. "BETTER!" She screamed into the fabric, rattling Stefa, who dropped his pen in surprise. She was shaking crazily, her hands wringing about her head, a sign that Stefan had learned throughout his years of treating her meant she was enduring unimaginable stress. And, as such, he decided to respond in the way he had been doing for years. He already had the iSpeaker in his pocket, and pulled it out now, hitting the button to play what he had already predicted beforehand he would need.

"Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," as performed by Alan Silvestri, began to play from the device, loudly sweeping colors of green and turquoise into her mind as she heard it. She stopped shaking at once, becoming stock still as she listened to the music that Stefan played. He smiled, knowing he had succeeded. '_Hark the Herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn King, Peace on Earth, and Mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled! Joyful all Ye nations rise, Join the Triumph of the Skies_…'

"Pamela," Stefan said softly, not letting his own voice overtake the music, "tell me about the nightmares, please."

Pamela quivered for a moment, still not looking around at him. He green socks curled in anxiety. Then, after several seconds of silent wonder, she shifted around, slightly, one eye looking at him, and she said, "Killing people…"

Stefan noted it as she said it. "Killing people… How so? Specifics?"

"Everyone…" she whispered. "All of the fuckers who have…who have…"

"Hurt you?"

"Yes…"

_'With angelic host proclaim, Christ in born, in Bethlehem!'_

"How do you kill these people, Pamela?"

"I cut them," she whispered, turning more to face him now, as the colors danced around in her head. "Cut them, slice them….with glass… make them eat the glass…"

"But you would never do anything like that in real life, would you, Pamela?"

She hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Why should I?" she asked. "I am an A-Plus prodigy on this campus! My grades excel above all the others. I'm going further than anyone, dedicating myself more than anyone else! I don't need to kill anyone… I don't need to kill anyone…" She tried to convince herself of that as she looked fully around at Stefan now.

Otto Rock was sitting there, where Stefan had been. Her eyes widened.

"And you should be proud of yourself for saying that," said Rock…no, said Stefan….STEFAN!... no…God, it was Rock… "After all, Pamela… _I enjoyed your body so very much…_"

"What!?" she gasped, curling into a ball, looking at him in terror. She blinked several times. Stefan was Stefan, again.

"I said…" He looked nervous. "I said… it's what the best do. Overcome the worst of the worst in order to build bridges."

"R-right…" she whispered. "Of course…" She blinked. Otto Rock was back.

"Come into the back with me," he said, grinning madly, holding up a small, potted plant in one hand, and a camcorder in the other. "I want to make a video."

Pamela shook her head. "Go away," she hissed. Stefan frowned.

"Pamela?" said Stefan… said Rock…

"Leave me alone," she begged, gripping her shins tightly.

"But I want you to fuck this plant, Pamela… I want to go first, but then the plant, okay…"

_Because you know, Pamela, that you enjoyed it…_

"No!" she suddenly screamed, suddenly bolting for the door. Stefan watched in shock as she leapt forward. He jumped up and went after her, calling out, "Pamela, wait! Pamela!"

She sobbed as she ran down the hall, holding her head tightly in her hands, pulling at her hair as she pushed her way past several students awaiting their own counselling in the hall of Coreman's Exterior. Stefan ran as fast as he could in pursuit, desperately begging her to stop running.

"Pamela, whatever it is, we can fight it together!" he cried. "Please, Pamela!"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Pamela exclaimed, collapsing upon the floor and cradling against the wall as Otto Rock approached her. She was terrified out of her mind.

Dr. Stefan tried to comfort her, tried so hard to reach her… "Pamela, please, it's me! It's me, it's Stefan! Don't act like you don't know me, Pamela!"

"STAY AWAY!" she sobbed. "STAY AWAY!"

_Stay Away_, the meager little sign nailed to the pine tree commanded any and all who read it. Bruce, however, shrouded in his darkness now, stepped forward onto the private, woody property. From Portland, it had been a ninety minute drive to the coast, and another thirty to reach the no-fly coordination that Alfred had sent his GPS. Barbara and Dick both had sent in their textual wishes of luck. _I'm sorry,_ Dick's had read. Bruce, naturally, had replied with, _Someone's got to chew my ass out. I think you're pretty good at it. Keep up the good work. _

From his immediate observation, the Zodiac Shire Estate was beautiful. The grass was blue, in the acres-wide entirety, and whole fields of sunflowers grew here, well kept, the smell of sweetest lavender floating on the air from the uphill slopes that led to the mighty black iron gates that surrounded the mansion of the Woodrue family. The mansion itself was a castle-worthy body, built of fine ivory-stone, three stories tall and intentionally decorated in mass amounts of ivy and budding, pink sunflowers. A massive, vertical pool ran the length of the front lawn, ending at a fountain of a statue depicting a man sitting atop a throne, holding a scepter of flowers in hand.

Standing at the edge of the property, Bruce calmly tapped into the security override tracer built into his left vambrace. Sixty-three instances of motion detecting anomalies lit up the little green screen like a Christmas tree. _Thank you, Alfred. _Based on this diagnostic, it was practically impossible for him to step foot onto the property without alerting Woodrue's security grid by normal, unpreparedness. Which was all well and fine. He had come prepared.

"Alfred," he said into his com-link. "I'm activating the stealth field now. I don't know how long I'll be out of touch."

"You are under orders to survive this, Master Bruce," Alfred replied firmly.

"Have a bottle of finest Oswalds to celebrate," came the cheeky reply, before he pressed the little button and, whilst disconnection from Alfred, activated the disruptor signals in his armor. Readouts on the little screen of his left vambrace suddenly shifted, with over half of the red dots blanking out one by one. The disruptor, however, had a thirty foot frequency, and only affected the sensors within that range, which meant he would have to proceed carefully.

Stepping forward, he began to run across the field, careful not to move too fast in order to give the disruptor enough time to manage the unseen detective forces. As the disruptor was not continuous, but rather range-based, the scrambling technology failed on the edge-based sensors the further Bruce moved away from them, meaning sensors behind him reactivated as her covered a certain amount of ground. But this was okay… once Woodrue was in his custody, he would not have to be so careful: the motion sensors were as they were, which were motion sensors. Security read-outs read nothing else, which meant they were merely in place to alert Woodrue to an intruder: not to deal with the intruder.

The mansion was getting closer and closer, and Bruce could feel his adrenaline pumping hard within. Most of the lights were off. This made sense. It was around five o' clock in the morning, and Woodrue would still be asleep…hopefully. Ideally. Did he live alone? Or did he have a security team somewhere on the grounds?

Up the hill and past the final set of sensors, Bruce took a deep exhale as he climbed the iron gate and sprinted across the deserted lawn. The lawn was dark, the only lights nearby the burning, electrical torches upon the exterior of the mansion, and thus he was able to blend into the darkness very easily. When he at last reached a side wall, he finally felt confident in this approach. The entry had not been as bad as he could have feared it to be… but that did not mean to let his guard down.

"Alright." He clicked his heels together, and at once, small thruster-tubes protruded out of the sides of his boots. "Alfred," he said quietly, "I'm infiltrating the mansion now. Be ready to receive access information where it warrants."

"Yes, sir. Do mind the flowers."

"Ha."

Activating a small lever on his right arm, he crouched for a moment and then leapt up. Gravity lessened by the thousandth millisecond and propelled him weightlessly upward, momentum manipulated to his needs as the anti-gravity thrusters propelled him to the highest ledge of the mansion within seconds. The balcony was deserted save for a single armchair and a small table that hosted a full cigar tray, filled with butts. He noticed, however, that one of them was still smoking.

_Somewhere we here recently…very recently… Which means…_ Had he been spotted darting across the fields? He activated a press upon the right of his cowl, and immediately, lenses flicked down over his eyes, turning the world around him infrared. Now, with this enhanced vision, he could see the red blots moving around inside. Close, inside. As in, five red blots situated right on the other side of the tinted window where he stood…

He could not hesitate! He immediately punched a small button on his utility belt, and several pellets spilled out of the bottom of it, just as he leapt backwards, away from the balcony. The pellets exploded long before the five security forces on the other side of the window opened fire, but not too long. As their machine gun barrage obliterated the window, sending hundreds of shards of glass in every direction, the exploded pellets produced mass amounts of thick, black smoke, and at once they began to choke…

Hovering ten feet above the mansions, gravity returned slowly and he began to float down again. Bruce directed himself towards the balcony where the security forces were retching from the smoke, and slammed into the nearest one. The man fell backwards and screamed as Bruce twisted his body and grabbed another one's head, slamming it down into his knee. Machine gun fire exploded through the smoke to his right, barely missing Bruce, who aimed a kick in the direction of the assailant. The attacker went flying somewhere off to the right within the room beyond the destroyed window. Three down, two to go…

He shifted his gaze, and saw a red blot to his left, its back turned to him… He dove forward and brought the woman to the ground, landing a severe punch into the side of her head. From behind him, the last guard had spotted his location, and he quickly jumped to the right. Unfortunately for the woman he had incapacitated, this security guard's machine gun fire filled her with holes… Bruce dived forward and swept a kick, tripping the attacker up, and he proceeded to strike the man across the face with a swift kick…

His work finished, he stood and analyzed the room. Four out cold, one dead. Not exactly how he had hoped to start off this adventure…

Without hesitation anymore, Bruce bolted for the other side of the room, which seemed to be a parlor of sorts, and broke through into a lit hallway. The wallpaper was cherry red, the carpeting a vibrant jade. He analyzed the doors carefully. Two to the left, one at the end of the hall, and another three to his right. This place was huge.

"Did you get him!?" Bruce jumped at the suddenness of the voice. It was coming from the door at the end of the hall, to the left. "I don't hear anymore gunfire. Is he dead!? Who was it!?"

Bruce calmly approached the door, and without any doubt or physical hold-back, he kicked the door hard. It slammed open. The room inside was a library of sorts, three entire walls dedicated to twenty-foot shelves, thousands of differently colored books decorating them. The floor was so polished and glass-like that it could very well have served as one massive dinner plate. It was perfectly mirrored, and reflected well himself and-

"You…" came the quiet hiss. It was a hiss of disbelief…of fear…

"Jason Woodrue," Bruce acknowledged. "Good morning."

Jason Woodrue was a toothpick of a man. Skeletal skinny and looking comical in almost oversized, dark green trousers and a simple black t-shirt, his light-brown skin paled at the sight of the Batman. Dark-green eyes widened, and already wild, spikey dark hair almost seemed to stand even more up on end.

"L-leave!" Woodrue cried, backing up against one of the mighty bookshelves. He fumbled quickly for his pants pocket, but Bruce was already moving. A Batarang in hand for only a moment before the black, crescent shaped weapon soared through the air, twirling wildly at the quivering target. The pistol that Woodrue had drawn from his pocket went flying out of his hand, spinning energetically away.

_A Bat with a scowl_

_Frail man just cannot win this_

_What will happen now? _

"Remember, Batman… you are invading a micro-nation's worth of legal protection!" Woodrue spat, tripping over his own feet as he moved forward. He hit the floor hard, and Bruce walked slowly towards the pathetic man. _This was Jason Woodrue? _"S-stay back!" he whimpered, curling into a ball. "P-please, stay away…"

"You're coming back to Gotham!" Bruce growled monstrously, grabbing the man by the arm and forcing him to his feet. His hand went around the man's throat and Bruce forced Woodrue back against the shelf, sending books toppling down to bounce everywhere. "I'm bringing you back to James Gordon. You're going to answer for _every_ murder committed in your name, by your own hands!"

"You can't! You can't!" Woodrue begged, shaking his head wildly. "No, no, no, no, no, no…. no, you cannot! I am safe! I have security!" His dark green eyes widened in fear…

Bruce frowned. Dark-green eyes? Why… why did that suddenly strike him in a funny way? There was something…odd about it… but he could not put his finger on it.

"Please," Woodrue hissed… and when he hissed, it _sounded_ like a hiss. Like a snake' hiss… like something…not human…

Bruce frowned again. The more he looked into that man's eyes…the more something felt wrong. _Dark-green eyes…_

"Send me photo identification of Jason Woodrue," Bruce said into his com-link… but there came no answer from Alfred. "Hello!? Hello!? Z… Z, come in!" 'Z' was the alias agreed upon between he and Alfred when 'Batman' was in the presence of another. 'Z' was the official opposite to 'A.' "Z!?" Still no answer. Bruce looked up darkly at Woodrue, who looked sheepishly like a child… and those eyes… those eyes bothered Bruce so much.

"Let me go…" he hissed again at Bruce. Bruce popped his neck loudly. "NOW!" Woodrue screamed, his eyes widening… and that was when Bruce saw it! In the man's frustration and immediate agitation, the dark-green shifted about strangely in the sockets, and turned almost… was it bumpy?

"You're not Woodrue!" Bruce exclaimed, his grip tightening around the man's throat. Woodrue's eyebrows went up… and then he grinned.

"I'm noooooooooooooot?" he almost seemed to sing in that strange hissing of a voice. "Whatever do you meaaaaaaaaan?"

Before Bruce could say or do anything, something very sharp suddenly stung his shoulder. He let out a scream and fell forward, releasing 'Woodrue' in the process, who fell to the floor in a crumpled mess… literally! As soon as hit body hit the floor, something unnatural occurred. Woodrue's body broke apart, falling every which way into several directions worth of a dark green glob of gunk… His clothes fell into a shapeless lump as the gunk oozed, and as it did, Bruce pulled the thing that she stabbed in the shoulder out: a single, small, silvery dart, not unlike a sewing needle. He twisted around.

There, in the doorway, stood Jason Woodrue… and this time, Bruce was sure he was looking at the real deal. Dark-brown eyes… and a look of deepest confidence upon the man's face. He was dressed in a white coat, not unlike a lab coat, which seemed to be saturated in green and pink stains. Woodrue casually threw a wave up at Bruce, smirking.

"Welcome to Zodiac Shire Manor, Batman. To tell you the truth, you're a little late. Too late, I should say."

"Woodrue!" Bruce leapt forward…and immediately fell to the ground. His entire body tightened up at once, his skin turning almost stone-like. Nausea overcame him… his vision distorted…

"My apologies, Batman," Woodrue said softly, his head bent down as he twiddled the dart-gun in hand. "But I am very adamant that you join me downstairs. There is something there for you to see… and I do hope you came alone. I've been expecting a florist to come calling, you see. A florist with a penchant for murder. Tell, me, Batman…" He took a step forward. "Did Pamela Isley follow you? Because if she did not, she truly lost an opportunity to get at me. But no matter… I suspect that you'll have to do for now. I'll have to go after her, eventually… heard you were looking for her, you see…" He came to stand over the fading Bruce, who struggled to move. But he could not. Paralysis was his existence, now.

Woodrue bent down beside him, and placed a hand over the side of Bruce's head. "Can't have you coming to the main event dressed like this?" And without hesitation, he ripped the cowl from Bruce's head, exposing everything, allness in full… When Woodrue saw who was behind the cowl, his eyes widened, and the look of deepest excitement overtook his features. "Well, well, well… it seems like I've invited Bruce Wayne to my special event." He stood up and chuckled excitedly, tossing the cowl into the air and happily catching it. "This is indeed a morning I will never forget…" 


	7. Chapter 7

"Wake up."

_I don't want to… no…_

"Wake up, Batman."

_I just…don't…want to…_

"Wake up… Bruce."

Bruce's eyes snapped open. He had went out like a candle being snuffed, down into darkness and cold. Now, awakening, all memory came flooding back to him as he realized that was strapped to a flat table, situated in an upright position, bound with thick…thick vines. _Very_ thick vines. These vines seemed to be alive, pulsing with breath of their own, and were protruding from-

"My God…" he breathed. The room was a massive laboratory. The chamber was completely floric in form, the floor being dirt and walls a strange, green, organic matter. Mounds of vegetation flourished in this place, and the vines that bound him against the table were coming out of the giant maw of what looked like an elephant-sized onion…except the onion had teeth, and its coloration was a faint blue. All around him, there were giant capsules, well-above the average human size, filled with a thick green gel, and in several of them there were floating bodies! People, it seemed, suspended within, unmoving, with thick, tan tubes plugged into their bodies. Beside each capsule, a terminal.

"Oh, you're going to be so beautiful, Bruce." Bruce turned his head and saw Woodrue walking towards him from the shadows. He was nude. Bruce saw that upon the man's chest was a fierce tattoo, elaborately designed: it looked like a highly detailed map of some sort of metropolis. Woodrue, noticing him looking, grinned and chuckled a little. "Oh, you like it… why, yes… I'm a bit eccentric, I admit. I had this drawn into my flesh during my college years, and even then, the artist thought me a looney toon. It's a map, you see, of the Edrenial Square, a pivotal place of commerce within the city of New Eden. New Eden, you see, is my utopia. My vision. And a vision that will see itself through for this entire planet…" He stopped before Bruce and stared passionately into his eyes. "But you know all about eccentricity, don't you? I say… Bruce Wayne himself is the Batman. Honestly, when it really comes down to it… it makes total sense. It really does. In fact, I don't see how you've kept your identity a secret for so long. I mean, all, the pieces fit, really."

"Woodrue," Bruce said slowly, inhaling deeply, "let me go now. I'm warning you."

"Are you now?" Woodrue's eyes lit up a fire within. "Tell me something, Bruce… you clever boy you… you knew of my Doppelganger because of the eyes. I commend your abilities. Tell me, then: Did you see a future within that creature as you studied its eyes and realized what it was?"

"A living, breathing mimicry of plant-life. No, Woodrue. I don't see a future in something like that. You notice it fell apart very easily, right."

"Oh, I did that," Woodrue assured him, sitting down upon the floor and spreading his legs wide. Bruce felt bile in this throat. The man had castrated himself completely. "I did that very much. You see, those creatures are merely puppets to a puppetmaster. That would be me. And how so are they puppets? Why, can you guess, Bruce?"

"A device implanted?" Bruce suggested, trying as subtly as he could to fight against the hold of the tendrils… but it was for naught. Woodrue shook his head.

"No, no… not a device. Not technology, Bruce. _Life_ itself. A hive mind. They are connected by a hive mind. I'm the hive mind." He gave a small bow. "You see, when I was a boy, I was never shy about my utter fascination with the continuation of plant-life and the survival capabilities they showcase. Pansies, for example. A common name for a wimp, but probably some of the strongest flowers there are in nature. I was always a pansy, too, growing up. They mocked me all the time. Gave me their own special name. Something you can relate to, right, Bruce? You're called, "Batman." Well, they called me, "Floronic Man." Ha, ha. We could be brothers, couldn't we, Bruce?" He gazed longingly at the floor and spidered his hands about. "But I aimed to live up to their name for me. I aimed to prove how correct they were about calling me the 'Floronic Man.'"

He stood to his feet and walked over to one of the capsules. Knocking loudly on the glass, he turned and said, "See here? Within?" Bruce studied it. A woman was inside. Long flowing, chocolate-hair, skin like almond. "Lasetta Rilee, daughter of Jaquez Rilee, the man responsible for the Oregon Coup de Grace. It will be the largest hotel chain in the Western United States when it's completed… of course, construction has been halted. A letter was delivered to the office of Jacquez, requesting the construction ceased and $40 million in cash sent to an anonymous bank account, which is safely secured elsewhere, for my immediate benefit. You see, in exchange, he gets his daughter back alive…" He gazed lovingly up at the floating, nude woman and slowly licked the glass. "But first," he whispered, "I aim to perfect her. I'll turn her into something marvelous." He looked around at Bruce again. "She's been calling herself 'Poison Ivy,' hasn't she? Awful name. 'Rosethorn' would be my preference, if ever the wasted goddess needed an alias. Well, Bruce, let me allow you in on a secret." He stepped forward and grinned. "'Poison Ivy' is merely a prototype. A failure, really. Just a failed experiment. Unfortunately, an experiment that survived when she was never meant to survive… I blame myself." His head hung. "I should have made sure the machine killed her before I left Gotham. But I was in a hurry that day. I had to get to the airport…" He beamed at Bruce. "Nevertheless, this perfect goddess of poison and toxin that has claimed so many lives in Gotham is merely a prototype. This one, here…" He gestured at Lasetta. "…_she_ will be the true Poison Ivy. The true Mother Earth incarnate. But, safely under the management of the Hive Mind…me. Together, we're going to create my utopia. The city of New Eden will expand across the entirety of North and South America and all in between. Lasetta and I will exterminate humankind little by little…while giving glory to the Chosen."

"Chosen?" Bruce repeated, almost sickeningly entertained, he realized, by Woodrue's delusions. "By all means, give me exposition, Woodrue." _Keep him talking while I figure this out._ The hold of the giant plant was too strong… Breaking free was not the solution. Forcing it to let go was. One thing of note: Woodrue had either chosen not to or had been unable to remove his armor. He felt no pressure below against the tendrils, and thus he knew that the utility belt had been removed… but the utility belt was not what he needed anyway.

"The Chosen." Woodrue gestured again at Lasetta. "She has been chosen. As has he." He motioned to a capsule on the other side of a chamber, in which floated a skinny African American man. "And you." He pointed right at Bruce. "You've been Chosen, obviously. You will be our Guardian, Bruce. Lasetta and I will require a Guardian. A Protector. You must be ours."

"Well, considering you're a Hive Mind, that sounds great," Bruce reasoned, nodding and smiling encouragingly. "Sounds very great indeed."

"You think?" Woodrue looked happy enough with his smirk. "I think so too. I'm going to put you in this one." He knocked on the empty capsule next to Lasetta's. "You will hibernate for three months as the dosage of enhanced toxins gradually increases. Lasetta's been in here for three already. In just a few more days, she will be reborn as the goddess Gaia. Sadly, she will have to wait three months for her lover to emerge." He nodded at Bruce.

"Me?" Bruce smirked. Woodrue nodded encouragingly.

"Yes. I'm going to have you mate, Bruce. You, and Lasetta. You will take her as your wife, and she will take you as her husband. Together, the two of you will plant the seeds for New Eden at my side."

"I thought you were going to take her as your wife, Woodrue…"

"Oh, I am. Don't get me wrong. But you first, Bruce. The Emperor has full rights to all of the wives in the kingdom. She will be the property to us both. I cannot bear children, you see. That is the purpose you will serve: to give her offspring. I…cannot." He gestured at his missing privates. "I cut them off myself," he whispered, his expression blank. "To make myself worthy for Gaia. In its place, something truly marvelous will come. A distributor of pollen and seeds that will give birth to an entirety of vegetation. Pamela Isley received me in human… but when I have Ascended, the entire world shall receive me."

"I see…" Bruce was getting sicker with each passing second. "Sounds good. When do I get to start mating…?"

"I have told you, Bruce. In three months times, after you have been properly assimilated. Your body will not be able to handle Lasetta until then: she will be overflowing in very potent toxicity. You would die. Poison and floric convergence is what separates the Floric Children from the Humankind."

"Floric Children?"

"I named us myself. I, God. I, Hosana. I named us. I, the Creator. I named us."

"Point taken. So, then… why not get me started? She's very fetching. I long to give you the children you desire."

"In due time, Bat-, I mean, Bruce… no… no, not Bruce. Not Bruce, and not Batman. No, your name shall be… Custos. Custos, yes… Latin for "guardian."

"How beautiful your mind works," Bruce whispered passionately. He was gently rubbing a little of his upper arm against the plant that bound him… trying to hit the com-link button… "Tell me something, Jason-"

"Not Jason!" Woodrue snapped, his head twisting around as his angry eyes bored into Bruce's. "Viridi Deus, Custos. I am Viridi Deus!"

Bruce nodded. _You're a lunatic is what you are. _"Well, Viridi Deus… tell me something, please… Will Lasetta love me? I need her to love me, Viridi… I need her to need me…"

"She will love you, Custos," Woodrue hissed, practically hugging Lasetta's capsule, one leg spread wide over the glass, as if he aimed to hump it. "I will ensure that she does."

"Fine enough for me… isn't she beautiful?" Bruce forced his arm forward as much as he could, and saw the blue LED light shine on his arm. _Connected! _He prepared himself. "Well, I should hope that you won't have me _tied_ _up_ for too long, Wood-, I mean, _Viridi Deus…_" He knew that, on the other line, Alfred and the others were listening in. "It would be a shame for me to be bound to this table with this giant plant that I _can't break out of_… I want to show my friends what I will become."

"You will show all the Earth within three months' time, Custos… and when you do, they will have to prove themselves worthy of receiving the endowment of Ascension…"

"I understand, my lord." Bruce felt sick and odd talking like this, but he had to keep the man distracted long enough to get his message to Alfred across. "I'll be…godlike…sort of like a _friend that I know_ in _Metropolis... _Guy can move like the _wind_ and reaches places _very, very quickly_. He's _gotten me out of some tight spots_ before… Aint that right Alf-, I mean, Viridi…?"

Woodrue was looking funnily at him now. "You seem to be taking this very well, Custos…"

"How could I not look upon the face of _god_ and not take it very well, Viridi?" Bruce imitated sounding insulted. "You can give me the power to be the true justice of Gotham and beyond… Vigilantism has no bearing on what I can and must do for the future…"

"The future is your mission, Custos. The future is your calling…"

"So give me my power already… give me my _Superman_ already, do you know?"

He was not sure how much he could really nail it in… he merely had to hope…

Woodrue approached the capsule next to Lasetta, and began to type commands onto the terminal. "I'm going to begin the setup process for assimilation, Custos. Give me ten minutes, please, and the first coolants will be safe enough to administer. Your three month hibernation will begin."

Bruce nodded, trying to look excited… _Please, I need a miracle… Come on, Alfred…_

The telephone ringing this early made Clark Kent frown. Even though it was already 9 o' clock in the morning in Metropolis, he never usually received calls until midday at his apartment number… unless something serious had happened, of course. When he picked up the phone, he became very surprised to hear the voice of Alfred Pennyworth, a man he knew very well from Bruce Wayne's press conferences concerning outsourcing in Metropolis. But it had been a good year since the last time they had spoken, and it took Clark a moment to realize that it was indeed Pennyworth.

"I am speaking to Mr. Clark Kent, correct?"

"This is Kent. How may I help you? This another angle for the _Plant_? If so, then I'm actually fixing to-"

"Alfred Pennyworth, sir." The man sounded agitated about something.

Kent smiled. "Of course, Mr. Pennyworth, it's fine hearing from you. Been a while… Bruce still got those scars beneath his eye?" He grinned at the thought. A giant crocodile, an ice-cream stand and nude nun from the local Abernathy Sanctuary in Metropolis… what a day it had been…

"Please, listen to me carefully. We've deciphered a message from Master Bruce and it's urgent. He needs your help."

Kent's smile faded at once. "What's happened!?"

"He's in trouble. He went to apprehend a murderer from Gotham. Dr. Jason Woodrue, who-"

"I've heard of him. He's quite a-"

"Let me finish, please!" Alfred cut across him urgently. "He specially requested for you. He went to capture Woodrue and bring him back to Gotham, and we just received a transmission from the com-link in his suit! Woodrue has his trapped and is fixing to do something; it sounds like he's going to experiment on Master Bruce, do something unnatural. There's eight minutes at best for you to reach his location and get him out of there."

Kent sat frozen, stunned by this turn of events. "W-where is he?"

"The Sotton Cove of the Oregon Coastline. A place called the Zodiac Shire Estate."

"And he's on the estate… in a manor?"

"Yes. Woodrue has a manor there. If I had a way of sending you coordinates…!"

"No need," Kent said quickly, leaping to his feet. "Let me handle Bruce."

"Please, Mr. Kent, he needs you. You're the only person who can get to him in time!"

"I said let me handle Bruce, Mr. Pennyworth. I'm disconnecting."

"But I haven't told you about security, or-"

"Don't worry!" He disconnected from the call and sighed. _Bruce Wayne, what have you done to yourself this time…?_

"What are you doing to yourself?" Pamela Isley asked herself, gazing longingly into the vertical mirror before her. All around her, her worktable was cluttered in what seemed like hundreds of beakers and paper cups. Leaves and mushrooms of a fierce, colorful variety lay scattered all over the floor; the entire room smelled bad, like old, sweaty boots, emitted from the hazy pink fumes that swam about in the air, wafting from the bubbling mixtures of organic matters… She herself was a frightening mess. Her crimson hair was tangled and messy, giving her the appearance of a ghost. Her simple, lime-green dress was tattered and stained. Her mascara was running badly. "What are you doing, Pamela?" she whispered to her reflection.

The reflection blinked, frowning. "What the hell do you think I'm doing!?" it snapped back. "I'm showing you that you can be in control, too. I'm showing you that there is the promise of salvation!"

"Salvation from what?" she moaned moodily, grabbing her head as her headache intensified.

"Salvation from spending the rest of your life as the carpet," the reflection proclaimed. "Take a leaf out of my book for a change, Pamela. Give me a fighting chance to correct your fuck-ups."

"My…fuck-ups…?"

"Yes. Let me take you for a whirl. Let me put Otto Rock into your power…"

Pamela bit her lip. "It's illegal," she whispered. "It's against the law…"

"The law?" Her reflection smirked. "The law, Pamela, or _THE LAW_? Which one do you worship more?"

"_The_ Law, of course!" Pamela exclaimed desperately. "Mother Earth has always come first!"

"Then put her first, if she must come first. Finish the entrapment. Now."

Pamela looked around at her table of delicates in terror. Out of each Beaker, Otto Rock's head protruded, and each one had a sour face. Each one spoke at once, a unison choir of taunting: _Fuck the plant…fuck the plant…fuck the plant…_

"You want me to fuck the plant?" Pamela whispered, reaching out and picking up a beaker of pepto-pink mixture. "Is that what you want? You want a plant-fucking?" The beaker trembled wildly in hand. "Okay… okay, fine… you'll get something from me you'll never forget… you'll know what it feels like to be enslaved, to be humiliated!"

_Yes, Pamela, humiliate him! Let him realize his sin, and let him live with that knowledge!_

"YES!" Pamela screamed, throwing herself forward as she set to work, adding new mixtures to the batch of powdered mushrooms and grinded halberly-caps…

Extract of Philloneus capastrotum. Mixed it with powdered Killiosus septaline…

_The effects of this potency,_ Dr. Necrox had told them, _will not be unlike the stories of Sirenic voyages. It is believed that Homer, in his epic, 'The Odyssey,' was referring to the effects of the Nibonese star, a common flower sighted in the Tiberian Forest along the Asia Minor, known for its hallucinogen properties that could incite powerful suggestion within the minds of its inhalants…_

She inhaled the flower petals deeply. Immediately, she felt her own mind lessen, her nerves freezing almost entirely as utter relaxation came upon her, utter intrigue… She turned, and when she saw herself in the mirror, she cooed at her reflection and set herself against the glass, desiring to reach through it and embrace herself…kiss herself…make love to herself…

_I would… I would do just that… I would do just that…_

"You need not ever give them the way in, Pamela," said her reflection. "You need only give them the need to."

_The need to…_

_ The need…_

_ The…_

_ Th…_

_ T…_

_ …_

Why she awoke later out of a strong daze, Pamela neither knew nor cared. It was midnight, and it was October the 29th. A time of festive change was at hand. Her dormitory room was filled with powerful pheromone fumes, the fruits of her extensive labor…

She was ready, mind and soul, to move forward with Eden's summoning.

"I don't know what will happen," she would later remember herself breathing in fear and in excitement. "I don't know how much bad will happen before the good…"

"And thus I stepped forward," Pamela Isley told Fredericks, "and became magnificent."


	8. Chapter 8

When Pamela Isley approached the door of Shemrock Hall, her heart pulsed with excitement. She was ready for this. She was ready for love, ready for passion, ready for control! _God Himself will tremble before me…_ she thought savagely, her entire body quivering as she rubbed her leg slowly with the green rubber gloves she wore. Her desires were fiery, her body a conduit of hot necessity. The evening was shadowy and cool, and it balanced out well as the campus darkened more and more with a bleeding sunset.

Shemrock Hall was two stories, but there were only five bedrooms in its entirety, a shared house for the five psychology majors at Gotham University who gave the school the most money. Naturally, Otto Rock's family gave an annual one million to the university budget, and thus, he lived within this palace of ivory walls, stain glass windows and private-fence shielded botanical wonderland. As she stepped through the black iron gate and gazed up at the magnificent house, her heart exploded with wonder and envy… To live in such a place would be monarchy.

As she stood upon the cobblestone path that lead to the porch, Pamela held her gloved hands before her and gazed at her palms. Smooth, clean, the gloves felt good and natural to wear… and inside, her power. In the very middle of the palms were the tiniest incisions, which through protruded a spongy material… the other end of which sat calmly uninterrupted against her skin. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, and breathed out her anxiety into confidence… false confidence.

_Dr. Stefan couldn't help me… my parents couldn't help me… Alissa couldn't help me… No one can help me… No one can help me… _

She could help herself, now. She was always the only one who could.

The porch was cold under her bare feet. She wore nothing but a simple, lime-green nightgown, silky and shimmering. This was the first time she had ever felt a desire to wear something so…tight? Revealing?... in public.

_Knock, knock, knock_.

The redwood door echoed loudly in the massive lobby behind it. She heard voices from a gaming room to the right suddenly diminish in their loudness, and Pamela freaked. _IDIOT! THERE ARE GOING TO BE MORE PEOPLE THAN HIM IN THERE!_ Heart racing, sweat pulsing, she looked around and saw a large brush of Cotinus. Diving forward into its green sanctuary, she forced herself as low into the heavy foliage as she could, and waited with held breath. The foliage was so close to the porch, feet away from the door, though now she was on a lower position.

The door opened, and a pair of feet appeared on the porch. It was not Otto Rock. It was someone she had never met before, a man in his thirties, by the looks of it, scrawny with wireframe spectacles. "Hello!?" he called out, looking around wildly, a puzzled look on his face. "Hello!?"

Pamela dared not move, dared not breath…

The man stomped his foot impatiently, swearing under his breath, but noticed the gate open.

"Who the hell is it!?" someone called from the gaming room, where the shooting of their multiplayer had ceased. Pamela's heart wrenched. _That_ voice belonged to Otto Rock.

"Someone pulling pranks," the man called out. "Knocked on the door and ran off. Wasting our time. I'm gonna close the gate they left open."

"Well hurry the fuck up, I was beating your sorry ass!" someone else called, and others in there laughed as the sounds of high fives met Pamela's ears. Shaking with fury and anxiety, she watched as the man hopped down to the steps and onto the cobbled path. If he closed that gate, he would most likely lock it! Why had she not made it look like it was closed!? More, why had she only thought to come across Otto Rock in a five bedroom house!? _STUPID, STUPID, STUPID… _

Heart racing, and mind working fast, she crawled out from the foliage and sprinted. At this point, desperation overcame her, and as the last of the sunset burned away into total darkness, necessity became key now, and she acted without really knowing why she was acting or what would happen…

The man heard the pitter pattering of her sprint behind him, but nevertheless was not fast enough to stop what she would later recall as her "first assault." With her left hand she scooped the back of his head and pulled him in. With her right, she forced her palm against his mouth, and squeezed the spongy material from within. When she did that, two things happened almost immediately: a powerful, perfume-like aroma saturated the air around them both… and the man's expression suddenly shifted from utter shock to utter daze.

He moaned something through her gloves, and she pulled her hand away, breathing hard, her heart hammering excitedly and endlessly…

He stared at her with a gaping mouth, swaying on the spot. His mouth hung stupidly open, and his eyes had widened as he beheld her with the look of deepest awe.

"Hi…" he said stupidly, almost like a drunk in the way he articulated himself. Pamela gasped, stepping back in a mixture of shock and surprise. _He's… he's not fighting… he's not demanding to know why I'm on their property… I… I have to test it… I have to KNOW… _This is not the way she had expected it to go… not at all. But she feigned confidence nonetheless, and picked up her ar. _Where are you going, arm? What are you doing!? _It rested across his left shoulder… and for some reason unknown to her, she was moving forward, breaking the space between the two and filling in an awkward closeness that gave him no comfort zone…but he did not seem to register a comfort zone.

"Hi," she breathed in his face, lips trembling as she held him close to her… Had she wrapped her right leg around his left!? She had… she had, and she had no idea as to _why_ she did just that… _I have to…keep this going… I have to know… _She brushed his left cheek with her left hand. "My name is Pamela," she whispered to him, her green eyes boring into his dark brown. She lightly tapped him on the lip with a finger. _Wait, what did I just do? _

A brilliant, wide smile overcame him, and he stuttered, "K-K-Kevin…" Whispered the stutter… almost craved to stutter…

Pamela smiled now. _Why am I smiling!? WHY!? _She leaned forward. _WHAT AM I DOING!? _Kissed his cheek. _DID I JUST… NO… BUT WHAT AM I DOING….!? _Kevin almost crumpled in her arms, his body going limp as he tittered into a fit of stupid, dumb chuckles… Pamela snorted, despite herself. _WHAT IS GOING ON!? _"Do you want me?" she hissed into his ear, licking his earlobe. _PAMELA!? PAMELA, WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!? _What was she saying!? What was she doing!? Everything she did, everything she said… it was all coming out not from her, but from somewhere else… from someone else…

"Y-yes!" Kevin hissed into her ear. She could feel his hands groping her. _Groping_ her! It made her jump at first, feeling him _squeeze_ her like that on…on those…on her… She grabbed his hand and held them there, breathing hard, terrified…terrified and elated! And then she did something she had never seen herself doing. She herself _groped_ him, and found something down there, alive and firm. Kevin's grip on her tightened… the smell of the pheromones were intensifying around them.

"Come with me!" Pamela hissed, her eyes wide with fear as she pulled him away, into the darkness beyond the gate. _WHAT AM I DOING!? WHAT AM I DOING!? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TAKING… THIS GUY!? WHAT DOES HE HAVE TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS!? _She watched through her eyes as she traced a path down the hill from Shemrock, away from the lavish palace of rich pricks and into the darkness of the trees near her own dorm home at Wallaby Circle.

The circle tonight was abandoned: it was a Saturday night, and everyone was enjoying their weekend away from campus. Nevertheless, she kept to the shadows as she pulled the man around the side of her home, and quickly got them inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

Kevin stood ogling her in the entry hall, examining every inch of her, drooling as he zombilly moaned. "You're so beautiful," he breathed. "So perfect…" His voice was not his own: it was the voice of one whose mind had been taken. Pamela, despite herself, grinned, feeling elation grow within at this triumph. He was nothing. Had nothing. Her experiment had been a success… wrong target, yes, but nevertheless, a success. Of course, only half of it was. The other half was yet to be seen: memory loss. She was sure that the correct dosage of _Tylonius Jaquez_ was in effect: the rare African flower, beautifully stolen from the private lab of Dr. Isaac Marcus (_'Better luck next time,' _read the note from the signed _'Jasmine.'_) was of a potent power. The man would eventually pass out… and when he awoke, he would have no recollection for at least a twelve hour range… or so she hoped. She was risking prison with this. If he awoke from his stupor at any time… Well, she would just have to think about it quickly, how to smuggle him back to Shemrock. Even now, his friends would be looking for him…

_BRING HIM BACK, PAMELA! BRING HIM BACK NOW! _she screamed at herself. She knew she had to. She knew it had to be soon. She nodded. She would do the right thing…

And by right thing, she set out upon Kevin. She forced herself right at him, throwing her arms around his neck and planting her lips upon him. Even now, she was sure that when Otto Rock and his friends had raped her… she was sure that they had kissed her. But a first kiss is something that you are conscious of: you are awake and aware. And so, with Kevin, she experienced her first kiss on her own terms. It tasted funny, like brushing one's lips hard into a jello cake. Unsure of what to do, really, she sort of moved her head in a circular motion, but nothing really seemed…_amplified_ by it. When she pulled away, however, Kevin's head went back and he exhaled loudly, his quivering hands resting upon her hips. _There! _she told herself. _There! Your first real kiss! You've done it! Now go, now! Take him back now, Pamela! His purpose is served. This is supposed to be Otto Rock, standing here, enslaved by your power! Take Kevin back and try Otto another night! _

But her body was telling her otherwise. The sensation of the kiss, though lacking in tasteful amplification, did other wonders to other places. Fire within a plant. Flame within ice. These were reasonable to the sensations, and gave her a sense of… control? Was it control? Whatever the hell it was, it was happiness. It was genuine, too.

_Pamela!? Pamela, no!_

She quite forcibly threw him to the floor… he did not seem to mind at all. On the contrary, he gasped out excitedly, his body shaking with joy. More terrified than she had ever been, she climbed down to him and forced her hand against his mouth again, employing another, more concentrated dose of the pheromones. By this point, he was positively screaming now, positively giggling. And she? She was removing her gloves, quite rapidly at that, intent on touching him with bare hands. The skin beneath his Gotham Minotaurs t-shirt felt…so exquisite? So silk-like? _What do people say? What do people think of? _

_ PAMELA, DON'T DO THIS!_

_ Ah yes… yes… I know now. It feels like the sand on the beach… _

_ Pamela…._

_ It feels like waves of salt are crashing upon my very hands…._

_ Pam…_

She grinned savagely, popping her neck loudly. "No…" she whispered, glancing down at the green gloves upon the floor. Her heart felt secure. Pamela was not her name, at least not right now. Right now, Pamela was asleep. She needed another name. Another meaning to herself. The green gloves continued to draw her eye almost sensually in their own regard. Nearby, a single potted plant of ivory-sickles, and hanging down from the large stem, clumps of dark green-

"Ivy," she whispered to herself, and she actually hugged herself fully when she said that…word. "Ivy…" She closed her eyes, thanking Mother Earth for how _right _it felt. "Thank you…"

"Ivy… ha ha…" Kevin looked out of his mind, clawing at her chest… _touching_ her… There went the sensations again. And now what was she doing? Pulling her-

_-my gown up… I'm doing this… I'm really doing this…_

-tossing the gown aside-

_-into the corner… far away from me…_

He _touched_ her again on bare breasts. _He's found them… he's touching them… Why is he touching them? Why am I not stopping him? WhyamIdoingthisrightnowIdon'tknowwhatIamdoingwhatdoIknowaboutthiskindofthing?_

Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy. Terror. Joy.

_Ouch… he…he's rough… _

_ GIVE THEM TO HIM. _

_ I CAN'T._

_ GIVE THEM! GIVE THEM TO HIM, IVY!_

She felt calmness wash over her now. Ivy… yes, Ivy… She was not Pamela, the terrified, weak, vulnerable creature that everyone had always called a sniveling little mental case. She was… Ivy. Who was Ivy? Was it the deep part of herself that had always thrived, that had always encouraged her personal, terrifying strengths? Was that Ivy?

Kevin bit her. She wanted to scream aloud, to prod him and scratch him, to slice him and bruise him… But she-

_-pulling him closer, are you? Sure. You go, Ivy. You go. Let him nibble. Let him TASTE. _

She did. She really did… She did?

_YES!_ He was…suckling? Was that what they called it? True _suckling_, like a desperate babe? But it felt so good… so good…

_MOTHER EARTH, IT FEELS GOOD. GIVE IT. DON'T…STOP…NO…HAVE TO…CAN'T…_

_ RAPE HIM. _

_ NO! HE HASN'T DONE ANYTHING TO ME! HE'S NOT GUILTY! OTTO'S GUILTY! OTTO'S THE ONE I'M SUPPOSED TO RAPE! _

_Rape…him… rape Kevin. _

_ PLEASE, NO!_

_ RAPE, KEVIN…_

_ PLEASE…_

_ LOOK, PAMELA! LOOK WITH YOUR SOUL!_

She did look. She opened the heart's eyes, and the eyes of the soul. The eyes of desire. And she saw Otto before her, lying on the floor, suckling her breast… It was Otto… yes, it was Otto… If she saw Otto, then Mother Earth intended it to be Otto and so Otto he would be… not Kevin… had to be Otto….had to be Otto…. Otto…OttoOttoOttoOttoOtto….

And so she raped him. So she raped Kevin, who she _saw_ as Otto. Tonight was a night of _firsts_. Tonight, you did things unimaginable, unheard of…beautifully evil. _MOTHER EARTH, GIVE THIS TO ME, THEN!_

When she became nude, so did he…delusional, inebriated, they became like Adam and Eve within the Garden of Eden, bare in full, unhindered by human garments.

_But what will come now? _She was sitting atop him… naked. But what happened now? WHAT HAPPENED NOW!? His eyes were closed, and he was clawing at the floor… begging for her!?

"Please, Ivy… please, Ivy…" Please? Please what? What did he want her to do?

Between her legs, _it_ had grown…big. Very big, and very firm. She touched it. Guiltily, she smiled. No, not smiled. _Grinned_. She liked how it felt. She liked its shape and its coloration, a firm blueness with purple. And veins, too. Pretty blue veins.

"I know what you want me to do," she whispered at length. She could feel it within herself…wetness. The ability to enter was within their power, as he body allowed.

_But I've never… I wouldn't even know how to…_

_ RAPE HIM, PAMELA. RAPE HIM IVY. RAPE HIM PAMELA. RAPE HIM IVY. _

Tears trickled down her face as she…inserted it? Sheathed it? How did one put it? How must one _always _put it? She could not care. Could not find the time to care. When it was…inside…two things came at once: pain, and pleasure. Both were married in some twisted, corrupting balance, both destroying her and creating her anew.

_My first time…it's my first time…my first time…my first time…_

"No," said Otto Rock, grinning up at her. "Remember? I was your first time… I was your first time…"

Pamela closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she tried to push away the image of Otto… but no! NO! She could not. Because if she saw Kevin again, then she would be raping Kevin! She had to rape Otto! She had to rape _only_ Otto! And so she forced his image back to the host, and when she did, her sexual elevation amplified, giving her the confidence she needed to continue this secret act of evil. She began to move her body in a dark rhythm of confidence, becoming more and more heated by each passing second. She began to exhaled, over and over, sweating… clawing at him…

_DOES IT FEEL THIS GOOD ALWAYS? MUST IT FEEL SO GOOD!?_

_ Why would it not, Ivy? Why would it not, goddess?_

"GODDESS!" she screamed, ramming her fists down upon Kevin's face. He let out a cry of pain and pleasure himself when she did it… and immediately succumbed to a priority of pleasure. But she realized something when she did that: she _liked _hurting him. She wanted to hit him again. Nevertheless, she held her hand back, dancing more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more…

Kevin was crying out now. His entire body was crimson, and his face strained. His eyes were clenched shut, and he was crying. Crying! Tears were falling down his face… as they were hers. _But I don't care why he's crying… I only care that he continues to do so. _

She jerked him forward and kissed him, with a passion that she would later accuse of being 'insatiable' and 'ravenous' and whatever else the fuck people were supposed to say about their "divine sex lives.' Ha! As if… what was a sex life, compared to goddesshood? That was what she had achieved. Divinity! He would cry for her, as he did not… and he would gasp for her, as he did now… Perhaps he could serve her, even.

"Oh, Otto…" she moaned. "Oh, Otto…"

Kevin, in his state, giggled uncontrollably. "Ivy…Ivy… I love you, Ivy…"

She popped her neck again, loudly. "You owe me more than your love," she whispered. _What? What does that even mean? Why did you say it? _"I don't know," she whispered aloud. "I don't know why I said it…"

_You've crossed a line, Pamela. I just don't know which one…_

"You're right…" She sighed loudly, gazing longingly into the eyes of Otto…of Kevin… She shook her head, trying to force the image to Otto… Kevin beamed up at her. The spell broke. Horror overtook her at once, and she let out a scream, pulling away and out as she sprinted across the room and into the kitchen. She collapsed against the counter, sobbing into her arms, trembling all over…

_NO! No, no, no, no, WHY!? WHY DID I DO IT!? WHY DID I DO THAT TO HIM!? _

_ What do you mean, why_? her shaking almost seemed to ask. _What do you mean, why?_

_I wasn't supposed to0 I'm not supposed to do this! NO, I AM NOT!_

_ Too late, sister. Too late, _Ivy_, because you just did. _

She looked back into the hall in terror and shame, seeing the mind-boggled, sensually crazed husk that was Kevin rolling about on the floor, _coming_! He was…

"Oh, my G-, no!" she cried, falling against the counter. "I did that!" she gasped, staring into the mirror above the sink. "I did that!"

"Against his will," her reflection said, an evil smile upon her face. And then the reflection shifted. It distorted for a moment, becoming like a pebble tossed into a pond… and then it solidified and became Otto Rock. Pamela screamed again, pulling away from it, and within, Otto did the same. "Well done, Ivy," said Otto, beaming at her. "You really _are_ my girl."

"NO!" Pamela screamed, and she ran at the mirror, picking up a small china cow from the kitchen table and throwing it at the reflection. Glass exploded and went flying in every direction, slicing tiny bits of her as it went. Otto was disintegrated at once… but his laughter kept going, amplifying in loudness and shockwave through her mind….through her body… through her soul…

Her strength shifting, her body weakened as her stomach churned, and she slid down onto the floor. As she did, her hand scraped a kitchen's knife set against the sink side, and when it fell, it nearly hit her, just barely missing her as it clambered to the wooden floor loudly just inches from her hand. She crumpled into a corner, staring desperately at the drugged, raped Kevin, searching her very soul to find justification for the sin she had committed this night…

"I'm sorry!" she screamed at him, clawing the floor. "I'M SO SORRY!"

Kevin, meanwhile, was turning on his side, gazing lovingly over to her…he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful creation, the most tender form. "I love you," he gasped, trying in vain to crawl forward as his semen leaked onto the floor. "I love you," he whispered desperately. "I want you… I'll die for you… I'll love you… Love me!"

Pamela gasped, cradling herself against one of the table legs. "Kevin…"

He flopped over uselessly. Under the influence of the plant pheromones, he was useless eternal. She buried her face into the floor, desperately searching for the comfort of her Mother Earth…

_I'm here,_ the voice that had always been there told her. _I'm here, Pamela. And as always, I am your way. I am your light._

_ Please…tell me how to fix this…tell me how to go back…_

_ Go back? _The voice laughed with her own laugh. _Tell me what you would be going back to. _

_ To… I'd be going back to… to… _

_ To what? WHAT WOULD YOU BE GOING BACK TO!? _

_ To…I'd be going back to… to goodness. Goodness…_

_ Goodness? Goodness me, more like. Is that what you call it, Pamela? 'Goodness'? HA! Try again. _

_ I raped him… He never hurt me! HE NEVER TOUCHED ME!_

_ I agree. He is innocent of the crime of forcing himself upon you. _

_ YES!_

_ But…_

But? She froze. Her heart turned to stone.

_But?_

_ But he is guilty of the crime of humanity. _

_ The crime…of humanity?_

_ Yes. Simple…he EXISTS. And because of this, he has defied Mother Earth, and must be punished. THAT, Pamela, is why you took him, because deep down, inside, within your very soul, you KNEW that the time had COME…_

_ What…time…?_

She straightened up now. The time that had come, had come, had come, had come, had come…

_What time?_

_ All the time in the world. _

_ What must I do?_

_ Punish him. He has sinned. _

_ What is his sin?_

_ He exists._

_ And I…punish him?_

_ You already have, Ivy. You already have punished him. Now, finish your punishment…in my name. _

In…the name of Mother Earth? What…what did she have to do!? What must she do to Kevin!?

_Take my sword… and strike down the enemy of Mother Earth. _

Her sword…Her Sword… And suddenly, out of the corner of her eyes, something glinted. The kitchen light cast down such magnificent. Dim illumination from above the sink. It caught the blade of the kitchen knife so beautifully. _So beautifully…_

_That?_

_ That. _

She scooped up the knife in hand, and stared deeply into the depths of the blade…into its very soul.

"I…punish…?"

"Yes…" The shards of glass all over the floor used her reflection and spoke to her. She gazed at the shards and desired to see Mother Earth more clearly.

"Do it," the shards whispered. "Only then can you atone for your sin."

"Atone?" she whispered back. The knife was shaking in hand.

"Yes. Atone."

"Yes…atone…" She looked over at Kevin. Did…she…have…the…power? She crawled forward. _Baby steps. _Over the threshold of the kitchen. _Don't be afraid, now. _Over him. He stared up and whispered that name again. "Ivy." _You're a grown woman. You're growing, Ivy. Grow forever… Blossom! _

"Blossom," she whispered, tears falling down onto his cheeks as she raised the glinting knife above his face. "BLOSSOM!" she screamed.

The knife plunged. It sank into his right eye. And now, Kevin truly, wonderfully, beautifully, passionately screamed. Screamed, screamed, screamed… So did she. She screamed too, pulling the knife out and sinking it, with a fierce, animalistic cry, into his stomach. Again and again she pulled it out, stabbing him fiercely and relentlessly, all the while sobbing, tears pouring out of her like a flood, and as she did so, she kept whispering one name, over and over: "Ivy…Ivy…Ivy…Ivy…Ivy…"

_Blossom. Bloom. _


	9. Chapter 9

"Would you like another cup of tea?" Pamela asked Mr. Nayweather quietly, who sat across the table from her, looking grim as he picked up his cup and nodded.

"Yes, please, Pamela. And I want two scoops of sugar this time, if you don't mind."

"Absolutely," she whispered. She took his cup from his hand, and poured… and poured… and poured… She kept pouring and pouring, first in small, genuine contributions…then to bigger, more pronounced floodings… and then she just toppled the entire thing over and spilled the tea all over the tabletop. It flooded in every direction, soaking her, the tablecloth, and Mr. Nayweather. She handed the overflowing, emptying cup to him, and he accepted it with a nod of thanks.

"Thank you, Pamela."

"You are welcome, Mr. Nayweather," she whispered, staring blankly at the opposite wall as she lifted her own mug of cold tea to her lips and sipped properly and lady-like, her pinky finger sticking out. She had gotten tea all over the pretty pink ballgown that she wore. Tonight, she had taken it out of the closet for the first time since Mrs. Killinger had purchased it for her, and she had braided her hair. Atop her head, a small silver tiara. "I do hope you like it. I spent all evening making it," she mumbled, drool falling from her lip. "The Cow came by, and let me have some of his milk for the cake I'm baking." She glanced over at the oven, which was spewing heavy amount of black smoke from within as the cake burned to pure charcoal. He grinned. "Just a few more minutes…" She absentmindedly licked some cake batter from her mouth that still remained, and looked over to Kevin, who sat at the table with them to her left. "Kevin, would you like a scone?"

Kevin said nothing. His eye sockets, emptied and bloodied, did not give her the trace of blinking. His corpse merely sat there and refused to acknowledge her. Pamela sighed deeply, clenching her fist in frustration as her face tensed.

"You haven't said a word since I started dinner," she hissed at him, a single tear of anger falling down her face. "Why won't you speak to me?"

Kevin did not answer this, either. Pamela, enraged, scooped up the bloodied kitchen knife at her side and held it in front of him. "Do you want me to hurt you?" she whispered, brandishing the weapon before his non-existent eyes. "I'll c-c-cut yoooouuuuu…." Her voice trembled. "I'll slice you here and there," she hissed out hard, struggling to breathe. She grasped her chest. It hurt really bad. _My heart is aching…_ Still, Kevin did not answer, and in rage, Pamela let out a scream and sunk the knife into his forehead, but it barely went through and hung awkwardly off of him. Still, Kevin said nothing.

Trying to calm herself, she looked around at Mr. Nayweather… but the elderly Brit was gone. Only Otto Rock remained at the table with her and Kevin. He shook his head, disappointed in appearance.

"You can do better than this," he whispered to her. He was nude. Pamela shook her head.

"Eenie meenie…minie moe…" Her face fell into the table, her hand knocking the bottle of Deity Rum off of the table, where it smashed all over the floor, sending crimson in every which way. Her head was pounding. Too much to drink… too much to drink… "Eeenie, meenie, minie moe," she kept repeating, pounding the table angrily with her hand. "EENIE MEENIE MINIE MOE!" she screamed, banging her fists wildly again and again onto the table. She screamed bloody murder and tossed aside the dishes of cold scones, the teapot and the plates and silverware she had arranged. All of these things went flying everywhere, smashing, crashing and sliding in the chaos of her fury…

A moment of silence, in respect to the loss of eyes.

_He lost his eyes, sure_

_She stabbed him repeatedly_

_Now she's just cuckoo_

Haikus. Too many haikus. Not enough screams. She needed screams, not haikus! Why did the haikus come!? WHY DID THEY INFECT HER MIND!?

She stopped shaking and stopping pulling at her crimson braids… footsteps on the verge! Savagely, animalistically, she looked around. A knocking at the door…

Falling onto the floor, she crawled away, into the shadows of the kitchen, and shivered beneath the table as the knocking on the door got louder and louder and louder…

Alissa Jagner was deeply, deeply concerned. Campus police was in an outrage. Everywhere, lights were flashing and people were murmuring. They had not quite yet reached Pamela's apartments, and she had had to come at once. She knew that campus police would be harassing her soon enough, given the affiliations of the missing man from Shemrock, and she wanted to be with her when they came with their bullying.

She pounded on the door harder and harder, practically crying out Pamela's name in desperation. "Hello!? Please, open up if you're there!"

She tried to peer inside the window, but the thick, forest green curtains made this impossible. She banged and banged, calling and calling.

"Pamela, this is serious. Someone from Shemrock's gone missing! Pamela, open the door, please!"

She placed her ear against the wood… and heard something odd. Was it…hissing? Something like a cat hissing? Frowning, Alissa placed her hand upon the doorknob… and turned. Her heart leapt when it opened! Feeling both scared and relieved, she opened the door cautiously.

The first thing she saw when she opened it was the blood. The blood saturated the hallway before her, glistening beautifully in the dim lighting of the apartment. Alissa's grasped the door frame, gasping audibly. There was so _much _of it! It looked like someone had been-

She had looked up. The body of Kevin Klassweave stared at her from the other end of the path, empty eye sockets staring at her from the kitchen table, a kitchen knife hanging from his head. All around him, a scattered mess of broken china and spilled liquids. Large amounts of black smoke billowed from somewhere to the right. The place smelled of burning food and blood! Alissa stood frozen on the threshold, mouth hanging open, heart hammering. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out in terror, and run immediately from that place… Voice quaking and skin cold, she silently called out, "P-Pamela?"

"Yeeeeeesssssss….." The darkest whisper came from the kitchen. Alissa saw something move around in the shadowy corner… His heart frozen. Something was crawling towards her in the darkness of the dim hall, something black in the shadows on all fours. It crawled over the blood… crawled slowly and awkwardly in erratic, jerky movements… Alissa could only stand frozen in terror as the dark shadow came into the light, and stood before her…

Pamela Isley's crimson hair was a terrible mess. Her face was decorated in blood. She wore a beautiful pink dress, not unlike an extravagant wonder one would don to a prom… it was saturated in what looked like coffee or tea. Her masquera ran heavily from tear-stained eyes. She did not look human. Quickly, crazily, Alissa spun around and slammed the door, turning to look at Pamela, her face filled with desperation.

"What happened!?" she whispered, unable to think of anything else. Pamela's expression was blank. So very blank.

"Mr. Nayweather came by," Pamela hissed, her head falling to the side, her mouth hanging open. "He came by and had some tea… it was good tea…made it myself… want some…?"

"N-no… what!? Pamela, who did this!?" Her eyes went from the bloody puddle in which Pamela stood in the center of, to the mangled Kevin at the far table and the billowing, burning smoke… Pamela smelled the smoke too, sniffing.

"Oh, fuck," she said blankly, leaning against the wall. "The cake's burning…burning all the way up…" She giggled. "Isn't that _funny_!?" She snorted loudly now, her face breaking in a wide grin. She caught herself around her middle and doubled over in laughter. "Ha!" she screamed. "Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Alissa, face stunned, ran forward and leapt over the blood, desperately flinging herself into the kitchen. The oven was smoking very badly, a fire within, and she hurriedly switched it off and grabbed the mandatory fire extinguisher that hung nearby from the wall. Pamela came down the hallway, still giggling madly, and watched as Alissa flung open the oven door. The black smoke overwhelmed her, and Alissa jumped backwards, screaming and choking on the abundance of black. She desperately sprayed the foam blast against the roaring fire within, and Pamela cried out in joy, clapping her hands wildly and applauding audibly.

"Firefighter!" she screamed, giggling madly as she sat upon the floor and watched in glee. "I want to burn down so many houses!"

The fire alarm went off. The beeping was phenomenally loud. Gritting her teeth, Alissa put out the fire and slammed the oven door shut, grabbing Pamela up and pulling her out of the room. She quickly slammed the kitchen door shut and guided Pamela and herself away from the smoke-filled oven and into the sitting room, where she set Pamela upon the couch while she went to lock the front door. When she returned and sealed them both within, Alissa collapsed upon the couch beside Pamela and grabbed her shoulders, forcing eye contact with the completely out-of-mind, redheaded mess, who stared blankly, soullessly, into Alissa's blue eyes.

"Pamela," Alissa whispered, her voice shaking, "what happened?"

"Mr. Nayweather left without saying goodbye…"

"What!?" Alissa shook her head. "Pamela…?"

Pamela looked sad. "And Kevin wouldn't talk to me… not at all…"

Alissa felt sick. She had only been in class with Kevin two days before, competing with him as they raced to answer Dr. Meretti's questions the fastest… "What happened to Kevin?"

Pamela looked up at her darkly. "We fucked," she whispered. "Fucked, fucked, fucked… didn't want… I wanted to… couldn't bear to… I had to… and when we did, I loved it… I hated it so much… so much, I loved it…"

"Pamela!" Alissa cried, shaking her hard. "What happened!? Did you…did you do something!?"

Pamela nodded. "She told me to take the knife and punish him," she whispered into Alissa's ear, hugging her friend close. "She told me to stab him. So I did. I did. And then I did. And then again I did…" Drool fell onto Alissa's shirt. "Afterwards, I made tea for everyone, and helped him get to the table… but he wouldn't talk to me…"

"Pamela!" Alissa cried, terrified of her friend. She broke away and stood up, walking backwards slowly to the door. "Pamela, y-you… you…" Her head hung low, her mind reeling. Two things came to her at once: _Go to the police… Run far, far away…_ She looked back up at Pamela and said, "They're looking for him."

"Looking for him?"

"Yes, they are! The guys at Shemrock never heard from him after he went to check the-"

"Door. He went to check the door."

Alissa frozen. Pamela, at one moment a delusional, crazed mess, was suddenly looking directly at her now. Her face had calmed, as had her voice. "What?"

"I said he went to check the door. I knocked on the door, Alissa. I knocked and expected Otto Rock to come out. But it was Kevin, instead…" He shrugged her shoulders. "Had to be him, of course it did… who else…? I panicked." She looked up at Alissa with a soft smile. A _confident_ smile. Alissa's hand was shaking, rattling the doorknob. Pamela saw her hand on it, and stood up at once. "Oh, Alissa, don't do that," she said quietly.

Before Alissa could move, Pamela suddenly sprinted forward. Alissa screamed as Pamela overtook her, grabbing her by the shoulders and tossing it downward, throwing her to the floor with a crazed grin upon her face. Alissa, frozen in terror, eyes wide, yelped as Pamela descended down upon her, crawling over her and sitting atop her stomach. She stared down at Alissa with a deranged, happy face, and her soft hands found Alissa's soft neck.

"Don't kill me!" Alissa breathed, her teeth gritted, fear most terrible overwhelming her. "Please _don't kill me…_"

"But I want to…" Pamela whispered to her, and she leaned down and kissed Alissa lightly on the forehead, stroking the latter's beautiful blonde hair. "Perfect angel of a woman, aren't you? Idolized on the court, desired sexually by the Minotaurs… Your face is art!"

"Pamela, please-"

Pamela popped her hard in the mouth. Alissa's eyes filled with tears. Pamela was enraged. Very enraged. "It's not fair, Alissa," she said calmly. "Not fair at all. What did I ever do to anyone? Nothing. I did nothing. I never harmed anyone, never treated them like dirt, nothing! What about you? Have you ever harmed a soul at this institution, Alissa!?"

"N-no!" Alissa cried, her eyes clenched shut. "Please, Pamela, get off…"

Pamela slapped her again, this time across the face. Alissa was crying now, but Pamela was enjoying herself. "Fuck you!" she hissed into Alissa's ear. "You have no right to talk to me like that!"

"Pamela-"

_SLAP._ "Do you want me to kill you the way I killed him?"

"No…no…no…"

"Then be quiet. Be very quiet. Alissa, what purpose did you have in coming here tonight?"

"C-campus p-police is looking for Kevin!" Alissa sobbed hysterically. "They're looking for him! Otto Rock called them in. He said Kevin vanished when he went to check the door…"

"And Kevin will never be found again," Pamela whispered threateningly to Alissa, "will he?"

"Y-no…no… I don't know…"

_SLAP. _

"Agh! NO! NO, HE WON'T!"

"And why not!?"

"Because I w-w-won't tell! I won't tell!"

Pamela smirked. "You won't tell?"

"No…no, I won't tell…"

And Pamela nodded. "Of course you won't. Because if you do, I'll punish you. I will punish you… Maybe I should punish you, too…" She prodded Alissa on the nose. "Would you like that?"

Alissa, her crimson and torn, moaned loudly and quivered. "Don't…" she whispered. "Pamela, I wanted to be here to protect you when they came to harass you! I didn't think you were actually involved! You killed him, Pam! You killed him!"

"It was supposed to be Otto," Pamela spat, looking venomous. "It was supposed to be Otto Rock. It _should_ have been Otto Rock! I want to kill Otto Rock! I WANT TO KILL OTTO ROCK!" Her head wrenched back…her grip around Alissa loosened…

Alissa took her chance now. She twisted her body to the left, and Pamela fell with a yelp to the floor. Immediately, Alissa was back on her feet and running for the door. Pamela grabbed at her leg, and her fingers wrapped around Alissa's ankle as the latter pulled open the door. Alissa fell forward into the hall, crying out as she landed face-first into the puddle of Kevin's blood…

Pamela had jumped up and was upon her back in an instant. "_NO_!" she hissed, grabbing Alissa by the head. "I won't let you! I WON'T LET YOU TELL!"

"Pamela, let me go!" Alissa struggled, but Pamela's grip was tight.

"NO!" Pamela cried. "I won't let you tell! I won't let you tell!"

She had begun to force Alissa's face down into the puddle of blood. Alissa spluttered wildly, trying to throw the crazed woman off… but she immediately became submerged into the red life essence. Pamela, licking her lips, kept Alissa's head forced down, drowning her friend…

_Isn't it magical, Pamela? Aren't you enjoying this?_

_ Yes…yes I am…_

"P-aam-eee—lla!" Alissa choked, the blood flowing in and out of her mouth. "PLEE—A-SE! Eck!"

"No… never again," Pamela hissed. "I will never be taken for granted again. Never for the rest of my life. Stop your whining and _die_!"

"NO!" Alissa rocked left and right, and Pamela lost her balance, toppling over. Alissa crawled away, aiming a kick directly at Pamela's face. Her heel made contact at once, and Pamela Isley fell over, falling onto her back into a stone-still state. Alissa, breathing heavily and bloodied, crawled away towards the door, sobbing desperately as she clawed at the door. She had stupidly left her cell phone in the car. She had to call campus police now! She climbed to her feet as quickly as she could, looking around as she did. Pamela still lay out cold upon the floor, knocked out by Alissa's fierce kick.

Immediately, Alissa threw open the door. Standing on the other side was Officer Patterson.

Alissa froze almost instantly, her heart coming to a standstill. Patterson gasped, his eyes going wide, his hand still raised in the air. He had just been about to knock. Down the driveway, his police SUV sat flashing red and blue. He studied her closely, his mouth hanging open. Studied her blood saturated hair, face and blue dress.

"Jagner?"

Alissa tried to say something… but nothing came out. She could not say a thing. All that came out was a strange, guttural sound.

"Jagner!?" Patterson raised his voice, looking over her shoulder. "What in the flying fuck!?" He grabbed her arm at once and led her inside, analyzing the scenario. For some reason, unconsciously almost, Alissa shut the door behind them. Patterson stood frozen in the hall, staring at the blood smeared all over the floor and the smoking kitchen, where Kevin's body sat, waiting for him. His eyes then found the unconscious Pamela upon the floor.

Turning at once to her, teeth gritted, his eyes widened as he silently implored her with a look. "What happened, Jagner!?"

"O-O-" She could barely breathe… she could barely think…

"What happened, Jagner!?" he roared at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her against the wall. "Answer me, now!"

Alissa's mouth hung agape. "Sh-sh-she killed him! Pamela killed Kevin!" It just came out. It just exploded right out. Patterson stepped back, looking stunned, and he looked at the knocked out woman on the floor.

"What in the hell are you saying!?" he demanded of Alissa. "Give me answers now!" His hand was going to his radio. Well, at least one hand. The other was going to his 9 millimeter.

"Pamela killed Kevin Klassweave!" Alissa cried, shrinking down into a crouch and rocking herself back and forth. "I came to see her and found…this… and she tried to kill me, too! She tried to kill me!" She sobbed into her knees. Patterson looked back and forth between the two women, his skin paling at once. He had now pulled out his pistol.

"She did this!? You are sure she did this!?" he hissed quietly.

"Y-y-yes! Yes!"

Patterson looked sick. He looked at Pamela again. "Holy fucking shit… that poor bastard. Murder on fucking campus and it's committed by the looney who should've been booted out a long time ago… What did she do to you?"

"Tried to drown me…in that blood… in _his_ blood!" She pointed at the puddle. "She tried to choke me… tried to kill me… she tried to kill me…" She was hyperventilating now, her heart pounding.

Patterson, looking awkward, stepped away from her and walked towards the kitchen, stepping over the blood and over Pamela with a disgusted look upon his face. He stepped over the mess on the floor to where Kevin sat, horribly butchered, and his hands shook anxiously. He looked unsure as to what to do.

"Holy fuck," he whispered. "Alright, alright… just…give me a moment, Jagner. Stay right there." He looked around. Alissa had been coming towards him, her face wrenched in misery.

"Please… please don't hurt her," she begged of him, looking in terror at his pistol. "Don't kill her. She's… she's not well!"

"You just back the fuck away now," Patterson spat, and he actually raised the gun at her. Alissa gasped, stopping in her tracks. "I don't know who the guilty party here is, do I, Jagner? How do I know that you didn't have something to do with this?"

"W-what!?" Jagnar looked at him incredulously. "W-what are you saying!? I didn't do anything!"

"I think you did," Patterson whispered, and the man actually grinned! _Grinned! _"Oh, buddy, boy, I see it, now. You and Isley were tight quarters. You were always justifying this little bitch. This little _freak_." He looked down at Pamela in disgust, and gave her a firm kick in the ribs.

"STOP!" Alissa cried. "SHE'S NOT WELL!"

Patterson shook his head. "Neither of you are well, Jagner." He raised the gun at her again. "It would be a remedy to put you both down, you know that? In Gotham, the distractions are exactly what they are: distractions. And they're unneeded, too. You accused a student of a serious crime. Otto Rock didn't appreciate it from either one of you." Patterson bowed his head, his eyes closed. "His bribe was enough to convince all of our buddies to turn the other eye, you know."

Alissa froze. "W-what?" she breathed.

Patterson chuckled. "Paid us a beautiful sum… in exchange for immunity for what he did to this little… this little-"

"Bitch?"

Alissa and Patterson looked down at Pamela. She was climbing up now from the floor, fully awake and glaring as she faced Patterson. Her voice was frigid.

"Bitch, right? Freak, right?" Her arms hung limply at her side. "Right!?"

Patterson frowned. "Kick to the ribs wake you up, murderer?"

"That hurt, Officer Patterson. It hurt _a lot_…" She rubbed her ribs painfully. "But not so much as it did learning that you knew about Otto Rock raping me from the start."

Patterson aimed the gun right between her eyes. Alissa uttered a soft scream, running forward. "Please, no!" she sobbed, shaking hands submitting in a fierce beg. "Please, no!"

"Alissa, be silent," Pamela said softly, not taking her gaze off of Patterson. Her voice remained icy and defiant. "The adults are talking."

"Oh, you're an adult now?" Patterson took a step forward. "You're a murderer, Isley. And that's all anyone will ever remember you as. But it's going to be okay. I'm going to save you from both Blackgate and Arkham…"

"If you were going to shoot me," Pamela said, "you would have already pulled the trigger. And Alissa would have been the first to die. Why not be honest with me, Officer Patterson? What do you really…want?" Her voice suddenly turned very warm.

Patterson frowned again. "You're a danger to campus. It's my job to put you down before you kill anyone else…"

"I see…" Her voice had become…slithery? Sensual, almost. She leaned against the wall calmly, next to a hanging shelf. There were only two things on the shelf: a small potted yellow rose, and a vibrant pink perfume bottle. Pamela casually picked the perfume bottle up. "Fragrance, then?" she asked him. "I want to smell nice when they come for my corpse, Officer Patterson."

"What the hell are you talking about!?" The gun was shaking in his hand. It was evident that Pamela unnerved him. Pamela, meanwhile, was giggling, and she began to spray herself in the most sweet smelling, alluring perfume…

…a perfume that met Patterson's senses at once. His eyes suddenly shifted, Alissa saw, from wide and angry to… droopy? His entire face changed. A small smile suddenly fell over him. He was suddenly looking at Pamela as if she were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. Pamela casually lifted the perfume bottle and dosed him in the face. His gun clambered loudly to the floor.

Alissa was stunned at what she saw. Patterson was absolutely _overwhelmed_ by the sight of Pamela, who stepped forward and planted a soft, tender kiss upon his lips. When she pulled away, her hand did not leave his shoulder.

"I love you," she whispered passionately to him. "I love you, Officer Patterson, you god-like wonder…"

"I…love you…too…" Patterson swayed on the spot, looking dizzy… dizzy, and in love. Alissa stepped forward, shaking in fear.

"I want you, Officer Patterson," Pamela sighed, kissing him again. His alcohol soaked breath wreaked. "Let me show you how much, you vile bastard…"

"What…did you do?" Alissa breathed. Pamela smiled at her.

"He was going to kill you, Alissa. He was going to attach your name to what happened here tonight. You see now? No one will ever be on your side. You showed me too much kindness… too much acceptance. And in turn, destroyed your right to your own." She picked up the pistol that he had dropped, and shoved it into her hand. Alissa gasped, jumping when she felt the cold metal within her grasp. Pamela made sure the safety was off. "Idiot… he didn't even have it off. He would have pulled that trigger to nothing. How embarrassing," she told him, thumping his chest.

"Isl..ey…what…?" Patterson leaned against the wall, looking utterly dumb. Pamela directed Alissa's hand, helping her aim the pistol right at the dumbfounded man. Alissa looked at her in disbelief.

"What are you doing!?"

Pamela brushed some of Alissa's hair out of her face. "Helping you. Educating you. Showing you the way." Her lips brushed the barrel of the gun as she gazed at the weapon lovingly.

"Way!?"

Pamela's finger entwined Alissa's as it wrapped around the trigger. "Like so." And she squeezed Alissa's finger. The shot went off like a firecracker, and the wall around Patterson's head sent chunks flying in every direction. Patterson actually jumped back in surprise, laughing hysterically, still dazed and wild in his infatuation. Alissa gasped loudly, and Pamela swore.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she spat. She yanked the gun from Alissa's grasp and walked forward, placing the barrel at point-blank range against the man's forehead. In the next second, his head exploded red in every direction, a massive hole opening up as his body went flying backwards. Blood splattered both Alissa and Pamela, the latter of who stood still, the coldest expression upon her features… the former of whom collapsed to the floor, traumatized and cradling into a miserable ball…

Pamela stared down at the dead man, a look of triumph etched upon crazed, jubilant features…

"And now for our feature presentation," Jason Woodrue sighed, walking towards Bruce now, a large syringe in hand. It was filled with a gel-like green substance. Bruce began to sweat.

"What is that, Viridi Deus?" He forced his tone not to betray his fear.

"Just a simple poison," Woodrue whispered, his eyes bulging. "The transformation requires your death."

"W-what?" It betrayed him. "You never said-"

"Never said, never said… ha… ha… there are so many things I never said Custos... So many things. I should have told Pamela the truth about what I had intended for her. I should have told her the truth about what her fate bore for her. She was meant to die… she was always meant to die… So was Lasetta, if only at first… so are you, if only at first…"

"How can I become your Guardian if I am dead!?" Bruce demanded, as calmly as he could. Woodrue closed the gap between them and shook the syringe before him.

"Because, Custos… your body is not ready. This process will require you to die…so that you can be resurrected. That is the purpose of the phoenix-chamber… Your body will be reanimated, Custos…"

"Alright, that's enough!" Bruce cried, struggling desperately now against the giant plant's hold. "Enough, Woodrue. You can't do this, anymore."

"My name-"

"-is Jason Woodrue. Senior psychopath of the Gotham's filthiest minds."

Woodrue's eyes went wide with fury. "C-C-Custos!"

"My name is Bruce Wayne. I am night. I am the man who is going to stop you."

Woodrue moved fast, his hand flying out as he grabbed hold of Bruce's throat and brought the syringe down. Bruce moved quickly, however… desperation got the better of him. With no sense as to what made him do it, he clamped down onto the arm that held his throat with his bare teeth and wrenched it upward. Like a dog. Woodrue had turned him into a desperate dog…

The syringe came down, but not upon Bruce's neck, as it had been intended. It came down upon Woodrue's bare, naked arm as Bruce had wrenched it within the path of the coming needle… The man's scream of horror was terrible, and he leapt back, stunned, jerking the needle from out of his hand and tossing it aside in fury, where it shattered, pooling poison all over the floor. He let out an agonous scream, stumbling about, his eyes wide and filled with fear. The plant that bound Bruce, meanwhile, was quivering uncontrollably. It shook violently where it held Bruce, and a rotten smell seemed to be emitting from its onion-like body…

"NO!" Woodrue cried, turning around and limping towards a table near one of the termials, upon which sat an array of colorful beakers. "CUSTOS! YOU BASTARD!"

The plant quivered even more violently as Woodrue fell forward, collapsing across the table of beakers and spilling many of them onto the floor, where they shattered in varieties of color. Woodrue desperately leapt as one of them fell forward… he was choking… gagging…

And that was when the giant tendril from the plant sunk down and released its hold on Bruce. _Thank God…_ Not wasting any time, he broke forward and ran to apprehend Woodrue. Woodrue, leaping up from around the other side of the capsule, spun around to face Bruce, holding a new syringe against his arm: this one filled with a dark purple gel.

"Bruce Wayne," the man whispered, shaking his head in disgust. "You have disobeyed God, and therefore have no place in my Eden…"

"At least I'm doing something right, then. What are you doing?"

Woodrue grinned. "You…forced me to…poison myself… I need…the antidote…" His breathing was getting ragged. His skin was turning gray. Bruce clenched his fist.

"Do it now, then," he demanded. Woodrue, clenching his teeth, injected himself with the antidote, and promptly fell to his knees. He emptied the thing in its entirety, allowing it to fall onto the floor after he had finished a full injection. The man doubled over, his limbs shaking.

"I'm shutting this place down, Woodrue," Bruce promised him. "I'm shutting this lab down and I'm bringing you back to Gotham. You're going to face justice for what you and Isley did."

"You don't want to do it…" Woodrue whispered, staring at the floor and avoiding Bruce's eyes. "You really don't want to do that…"

"Yes, I do. I want to see you put away, preferably in Arkham where you can't do any harm."

"Arkham? _Arkham_? That place is like a revolving door…"

"I won't let that happen. I promise you that."

"Oh? Oh, oh, oh…" A trace of laughter. "Ha. Ha. Oh, that's funny… oh that's very…_FUNNY_." Something happened… When he said that last word, something changed. His voice… "_THAT… THAT IS HILARIOUS…" _

His voice…it had gotten so deep…so extensively echoic… Frowning, Bruce grabbed him by the shoulder and forced the man to look him in the eyes. And his eyes met new eyes: bright, glowing, neon-green eyes, with no distinctive pupil or iris. Bruce released him, stepping backwards, shocked by this sudden change. Woodrue stood up, staring forward with those demonic, glowing eyes…

"_BATMAN_." His voice had become like a growl trapped within the wind, air-like and floating around the room. A deep grumble accompanied every syllable. As he spoke, Bruce saw more changes come. His skin had turned from a sickly gray to a more vibrant color: almost chestnut. His hair… his hair was changing too. It was losing its dark brown coloration… and it was changing to something more _green_. A dark, mossy green… No… no it was not just mossy green… it was _moss_! Moss was growing out of his head, overlaying his hair…

"_BATMAN! LOOK AT ME! TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE."_

And Bruce did see much. His skin had now gone beyond merely turning chestnut: it had become chestnut! His skin had turned…wooden! His fingers were becoming elongated, and sharp, like deadly branches! He hunched over, his face distorting into some kind of ghastly, tree-bark like cutting… And when he grinned a most evil grin, his teeth revealed themselves to be bark as well.

"_TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE, BATMAN. TELL ME, BRUCE. TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE. DO YOU SEE GOD? DO YOU SEE LUCIFER? TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE."_

Bruce hurriedly tapped his com-link. "Alfred?"

"Master Bruce! Master Bruce, what's going on!?"

Woodrue issued a snake-like hiss that became laughter. "_TELL HIM, BATMAN. TELL HIM WHAT YOU SEE."_

"A-Alfred… did you by chance manage to contact Clark?"

"Yes, Master Bruce, he said he'd come!"

"Good… because now would be a very good time for him to do so."

"But… he should have already-"

_BOOM!_ Something erupted from behind Bruce, and he turned, relieved, to see-

A giant, dark green tendril coming out of a massive hole in the wall, directly at him! Heart stopping, he leapt aside, and the giant tendril barely grazed him as it soared overhead. Rolling to a standstill, Bruce spun to face Woodrue, who was laughing maniacally as the giant thing entwined his body and lifted him into the air. "_AND SO IT BEGINS, THEN, BATMAN. BRUCE. CUSTOS. SO IT BEGINS. TELL ME: WHERE IS YOUR FRIEND? WHERE IS YOUR HOPE? DID YOU EXPECT HELP TO COME? DID YOU EXPECT HELP TO COME AT ALL? SMELL THE AIR, BRUCE. TELL ME WHAT YOU SMELL!" _

Bruce, against his better judgment, did just that. And what he smelled made his heart freeze. Salt. He smelled salt, and lots of it…

_No…_

"Am I beneath the ocean, Woodrue? Am I beneath the Pacific?"

"_DOWNSTAIRS CAN MEAN SO MANY THINGS, BRUCE. HERE'S A FINE BIT OF KNOWLEDGE. A FINE BIT OF WISDOM: WE'RE NOT IN ZODIAC SHIRE MANOR. WE'RE FAR OUT TO THE PACIFIC, BENEATH ITS VIBRANT BLUE WATERS… AND WHOMEVER YOU HAVE CALLED FOR AID WILL NOT FIND YOU HERE." _

Bruce closed his eyes, sighing. Woodrue had gotten the better of him.


	10. Chapter 10

A barrage of thorns. They made Bruce realize that life just is not fair at all. But these thorns were even worse: black and narrow, crimson tipped, they shimmered with a secret liquid coating that he would not allow himself to explore more intimately. They erupted from Woodrue's very mouth, propelled by some unseen forth within from high above where the massive seaweed tendril held the madman. Throwing himself to the right, the black thorns arrowed into the wall behind, just barely missing Bruce's head, and when he looked around, he saw the metal where they had stabbed sizzling… _sizzling and emitting a strong, sulfuric odor…_

"_SUBMIT." _Woodrue's transformed, pencil-thin, infinitely long arms pointed a gnarled, branch-like staff (one of his fingers) at Bruce, and the creature grinned. "_THIS IS THE WAY, CUSTOS. THIS IS THE WAY." _

"Sir!" Alfred was crying frantically from the com-link. "Red-001!"

Bruce nodded (though Alfred could not see that, of course) and said, "Right." He lifted his left arm, aiming it right at Woodrue.

"Tell me something!" Bruce cried, his face filled with rage. "Did you disable my suit's protective measures before bringing me down here!?"

Woodrue, glowing eyes pulsing out green steam in his agitation, let out a monstrous roar and propelled a new barrage of thorns at Bruce, who sidestepped and hit the trigger on the side of his left arm. From a small, cylinder-shaped tube, a blast of red flame exploded outward, jetting quickly across the room at Woodrue. Woodrue, crying out in shock, moved his arms like a composer, and before the flames could hit him, the giant tentacle that had previously held Bruce in place sprung alive and snaked quickly to its master, catching the flame blast. A terrible sound, like screaming, issued from the onion-shaped pod nearby, and in the next second, the giant tentacle came crashing down, fully burning, at Bruce. It moved so fast that it actually hit the back of his leg as he went to dive out of the way, knocking him across the floor and against the wall.

As Bruce hit the wall, Woodrue descended down, landing upon the floor in front of Lasetta's capsule. He ran quickly to the terminal before the thing, typing in instructions as he switched on a microphone and spoke into a small speaker. "_SWANSON. BRING YOUR TEAM IN AND EXTRACT LASETTA."_

"Understood," a deep voice replied from the other end. The line went dead, and as it did, Lasetta Rilee suddenly began to descend within her capsule as the green liquid within began to drain. Bruce leapt to his feet, running forward as he took aim against at Woodrue. The first blast of fire had been overdone, he would admit to himself later, out of desperation. He had used up more than half of the fuel storage circulating within between his pauldron and vanguard. Woodrue heard him coming, however, and spun around fast. And he was holding something at the ready with only one hand to support its weight.

"_WATCH OUT, BRUCE." _The .10 gauge shell exploded out of the end of the shotgun. Bruce was hit directly in the chest, and pain became his entire world in that moment as his vision went black and he fell back onto the floor… He crashed, sprawled, pieces of his chest-plate flying in every direction… He screamed for the sake of the pain that burned through his body. An evil, excited laughter carried on the wind around him as he struggled to breath, his heart hammering hard… he was bruised, and bruised badly. _Am I dead yet…? _

Woodrue was walking towards him now, twiddling the shotgun around in his hand with inhuman strength. He stood over Bruce and shook his head in disappointment.

"_CUSTOS… WHY DO YOU FORSAKE ME?" _The shotgun was aimed now at Bruce's head, who could only look up at this tool of his inevitable death. He was too weak. He was in too much pain. He…was human. Woodrue…was not. _"I'LL ALLOW YOU LASETTA'S HAND, CUSTOS… I AM GOD. I AM HONORABLE LIKE THAT. ONE MORE CHANCE, CUSTOS. ONE MORE CHANCE. SUBMIT TO GOD. SUBMIT TO JEHOVA. CALL ME WHAT I AM. CALL ME VIRIDI DEUS. CALL ME YOUR LORD AND SAVIOR." _

Bruce said nothing. He merely closed his eyes and waited for the demon to be done. This demon of plant life and insanity… in the end, Woodrue would be dealt with. Clark would come…too late, but Bruce was sure he would come. And if not, Alfred, Dick and Barbara would ensure that Woodrue was found and dealt with. He had no regrets. His life had been a fine one… _I'm coming home now, Dad…Mom… I'm coming home now. _

"_NOTHING?" _Woodrue sounded genuinely disappointed. "_FINE. I SEE YOUR WAY. THE ACCEPTANCE, THE MENTALITY OF ASSURANCE… METAPHYSICAL, YES, BUT NOT LOGICAL, YET LOGICAL TO YOU. I'M ACTUALLY PROUD OF YOUR STUBBORNESS, CUSTOS." _

Woodrue looked around at Lasetta's capsule. The woman had awoken. Fully nude, dripping from her soaked form in the vibrant chemical, she had her hands placed against the glass, and was peering outward with a curious expression. Her skin, now unhindered by the green hibernation fluid, could be seen to be copper in color. Woodrue, sighing happily, turned away from Bruce and advanced towards her. At that same moment, a barrage of footsteps could be heard from behind. A door behind Bruce slid open, and in charged a party of seven armored, armed security guards, all wearing gas masks and carrying AK-47s. Three of them spotted Bruce and held him at gunpoint, while the other four proceeded forward, just as Woodrue was unsealing the capsule.

The glass door spun open, and Lasetta, her expression wide-eyed, fell forward, into the awaiting arms of Woodrue, who embraced her closely. The four proceeding guards came forward and stopped before the two of them. Lasetta was shaking, as if she were very cold, and looked around, whimpering and wild-eyed, unable to say anything.

"_IT WILL TAKE SOME TIME," _said Woodrue, _"FOR HER TO REGAIN SPEECH. SHE NEEDS TO BE ESCORTED SAFELY FROM THE PREMESIS, SO THAT WE MAY BEGIN THE MENTAL TREATMENTS. SHE IS SO…VERY CLOSE NOW." _He stroked her face in a very caring manner, and she could only look at him in silent, questioning reply. Her face asked: _What is this world, and what am I doing in it? What am I? What is 'am'? What is 'is'? _Woodrue looked around at his four escorts, and said to them, "_DON'T LET YOUR PROTECTIVE GEAR FAIL YOU. A SINGLE TOUCH OF HER SKIN… YOU WILL DIE. THE VERY AIR SHE EMITS… IF ONLY YOU HUMANS COULD FEEL IT: TOXIC AIR. THE DEADLIEST KIND. SHE IS A LIVING CONDUIT OF VENOM, A POISONOUS FLOWER OF PERFECTION. DO NOT BREATH IN THE AIR AROUND YOU WITHOUT YOUR MASK FILTERS. DO NOT APPROACH HER WITHOUT PROTECTIVE SUITS. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"_

All of them nodded, with a chorus of 'yes sir.' They stepped forward, opening up a thin blue sheet to wrap her up in… and one by one, they fell over. One by one, they toppled, each one letting out a fierce, pained gasp of breath… Woodrue looked around at them all, astounded and interested. The four guards were retching loudly, gagging audibly as they struggled with something upon the floor for a moment… before each one became still. Very still. Dead.

Woodrue gasped, bending down and snatching off one of their masks. The man beneath it… his skin had turned a sickly green in color. His veins were bulging with dark green matter. His eyes… they had bled profusely, his face saturated in it. All over his face, little black pods were sprouting through his skin, bursting through his body and spreading… they looked like mushrooms…

"_I SEE…" _Woodrue nodded. "_I VERY MUCH SEE… HER BODY PRODUCES SUCH A POTENT POISON. IT'S TOO POWERFUL FOR EVEN YOUR PROTECTIVE GEAR. SHE'S EMITTING IT LIKE A STEAMER… I ADMIT, I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING. WHAT A SHAME." _He actually chuckled loudly. _"YOU TRULY ARE A LIVING MIRACLE, LASETTA." _He took her by the cheek and stroked her face. Still, her expression held only curiosity. She was like a child, and a mute one at that. "_WELL, WELL… IT SEEMS THAT I WILL BE THE ONE ESCORTING YOU, THEN. THE REST OF YOU!" _He looked around at the three guards holding Bruce at gunpoint, who were all staring at their fallen comrades in stunned silence. "_BRING CUSTOS… BRUCE… TO SUBMARINE ALPHA. NOW." _

The surviving guards hurriedly did as they were told. Two grabbed an arm and the third his legs, and they began to hoist him away, straining as they lifted him up in their eagerness to get out of the room with the virulent, terrifying woman… a woman who protective suits meant nothing to!

Bruce, fading into unconsciousness now, tried desperately to talk to Alfred one last time… but he managed nothing, and slipped into black. Of course, his com-link had been damaged by the shotgun shell. What difference would it have made?

"It makes all the difference in the world," Pamela told Alissa, who was crumpled into her little corner within the hallway, still shaking madly in her traumatic phase. Pamela crouched down before her and grabbed her chin forcibly, making eye contact absolute. "Look at me, Alissa, _now!_" Alissa, her eyes twitching, did, though she was incapable of speech. "Doesn't this make all the difference in the world!? Aren't you _glad_ to see Officer Patterson dead?"

Alissa, in her continuing, stunned form, could only make something like a cross between a moan and a choke. "No?" Pamela asked, looking sad. "Well, I suppose you can just go home then. Go on." She released Alissa and stood up. "Go home. Go home and wait for them to come looking for you, when Patterson doesn't show up…"

Now, Alissa found her voice. She looked up at Pamela incredulously. "But _you_ killed them," she choked out, her voice no higher than a terrified whisper. "You killed them…"

"And you were with me," said Pamela coldly. "You're involved now. Patterson was going to turn you in along with me. You heard him. I barely heard him, but I did, Alissa… and you know what? I'm _glad _he's dead… aren't you?"

Alissa stood up too, looking at her with wide eyes. "N-n-n-…" She squeezed them shut and clenched her fists. "N-I'm n-n-…" Why could she not say it? Why could she not say no? "N-…"

"N-n-n-no?" Pamela tried to help her. "Is that what you're trying to say? No?"

"I.. n-…" She almost gave off a small sob. "Y-yes…"

"Yes?"

Alissa looked at her with tearstained eyes. "Y-yes," she hissed, through gritted teeth. "Of course I'm glad…"

Pamela smiled warmly, and placed a hand upon her friend's shoulder. "Well, good. Very good. That's the way it should be, Alissa… that's the way it should be. Patterson was evil. He took bribes. You know he did. He admitted it. He took a bribe from Otto Rock, and has kept what was done to me in shadow… he punished me for being a rape victim." She looked down at his body in disgust. "Now the fucker can spend the rest of eternity in Hell. Imagine it, Alissa… him burning…burning in agony, boiled and torn asunder, forever and ever… Patterson deserved this. Patterson has been made beautiful."

"B-beautiful?" Alissa repeated, shaking her head. Pamela nodded, and walked over to Patterson's body, placing a foot upon his chest in triumph.

"Yes. He's been recreated, in my new philosophy."

"Philosophy!? Pam, we're talking about _murder!" _

"Who says they cannot be one in the same? My philosophy is simple: every person on the planet is an interloper. The property belongs to Mother Earth. Therefore, interlopers must be shot." She kicked Patterson's body firmly. "Shot. Stabbed. Burned. Mutilated. I don't care how it must be done…but everyone deserves a death. You. Me. Everyone. We're all mutilating the Earth, one by one. We're all damaging it… we have to be stopped, Alissa. All of us. I'd take his gun now and blow my own brains out…your's first, of course… if I knew that there were others willing to fight for Mother Earth as I have tonight." She faced Alissa now, and stood atop Patterson's body, so that she was above her friend. "But I see that there is no one, Alissa. Mother Earth came to me tonight. She spoke to me, and commanded me to take Kevin's life, and sacrifice it to her." She grinned excitedly. "And when I obeyed… she sent my enemy Officer Patterson! She sent him right afterwards, as a sacrifice to both Her and myself! Don't you see, Alissa!? DON'T YOU SEE!? I WAS REWARDED FOR OBEYING! I WAS REWARDED FOR SHOWING HER MY LOVE!"

She hopped down and bounced about excitedly, hugging herself as she grinned at the ceiling. "Thank you, Mother Earth… thank you for the sacrifice!"

"But you'll be arrested!" Alissa snapped. "Both of us will be arrested! We'll go to prison!"

"No, no!" Pamela said quickly, snapping back to her serious side. "No, we'll hide the bodies, Alissa. You and me. I know a place. I know a good place! A place they'll never be found! It's in the Hallow! There's a marsh there. The bodies will never be found!"

"You want to hide them in a swamp!?"

"Yes, Alissa! The bog water will decompose them quickly! It's very well hidden, and no one ever goes through there except me! It's my secret spot! We can hide the bodies there and let Nature handle the rest!"

Alissa had paled. She was looking uncomfortably from Pamela to Patterson to Kevin. "When?" she whispered, her voice quivering. She…just could not see any other way.

"Right now. He left his cruiser out there, right? We can use it, and then… then…"

"You realize police cruisers have GPS tracking, right!?"

Pamela held up a hand. "I know, I know… Let me think, please…" She tapped her head in aggravation. Those damn implementations. What horrid additions for the "sake of accounting for our boys in blue?" "Alright, alright," she said quickly. "Here's what we do. We drive it out of town. Far out of town, and leave it abandoned, a very long way away from where we hide the bodies. Porda-Bay Village!" she suddenly screamed, the idea hitting her at once. "We drive to Porda-Bay Village! They have a bus… If we leave the cruiser outside of Porda-Bay, we can catch a bus back to Gotham City limits… They'll eventually find the cruiser, but they won't have a proximity link to where the bodies will be stashed!"

"Pam, that's… that's ab-" Alissa could not finish the sentence, however. Right now, they had to think, and think fast. This was a moment of entirety: her entire future hinged upon making the wisest decision. She was of two minds, and both decisions were phenomenally hard: run to the GCPD and contact the commissioner of police, who was well-respected and would tackle the situation in the appropriate manner… or go with Pamela and hide the evidence that anything had ever taken place here, and risk going to prison (or worse) in the process for a crime that she had not committed, and murder at that…

The choice was quite clear.

"Alright," she breathed out at last, tears in her eyes. "I'll… I'll do this for you… I'll do it to protect you, Pam… but why did Kevin have to be punished?" She pounded the wall hard, making Pamela jump. "I understand Patterson… and I'm glad he's dead." She was. She really was. She cast a look over at the officer's body and felt only bitterness towards the asshole. "I'm glad he's dead," she tried to pronounce, more confidently. "He deserved worse than what you did to him… and I… I thank you…" What was she saying? Why was she saying it!? "But Kevin… did he really do the…the Earth an injustice?"

"We all do," Pamela whispered, giving her a look of deepest sympathy. "We all do. We all injustice Mother Earth. We all deserve death, as Kevin learned. His sin…was existing. It is the sin we all commit… all of us… but Alissa…!" She became excited again. "…if we become Agents to the Earth…imagine the immortality! Mother Earth will grant us freedom! She will grant us wealth beyond our wildest dreams! We will be rewarded for weeding the Garden!"

"Wealth?" Alissa shook her head. "I don't see wealth in our future, Pam…"

"Oh?" Pamela knelt down beside Patterson, and rifled through his pocket. Out came his pocketbook, and when she revealed the contents, Alissa gasped loudly…against herself, at that. The wallet was stuffed with hundreds. "Behold? I give this gift to you, Alissa. Take this, and remember me by it." She removed all forms of communication from the wallet and handed Alissa the stuffed treasury. Alissa took it with trembling hands, gazing at the money longingly…hungrily… She looked up at Pamela, an incredulous look upon her face… and grinned.

"Really?"

Pamela nodded. "Really."

Moving the bodies was difficult. Pamela had to act swiftly. Her first order of business had been to run out to the police cruiser with a flashlight, and deactivate the flashing lights. It seemed that no one really was home around the quarter this weekend, as there were no curious faces in the windows or doorways to see what the cruiser was doing there. _Mother Earth watches me. _It took her several minutes of searching to find the correct switch for the lights, and when they were out, she set to work destroying the laptop connected to the car mainframe, attacking it relentlessly with a claw hammer until it was an utter mess of scrap upon the seat.

Afterwards, to be safe, she went around to each of the five houses in the quarter, knocking on each door. Thankfully, only one door answered her call. The moment the young, sleepy young woman answered the door, her eyes squinting to see through the lack of contacts, Pamela, a long hoodie drawn over her face to act as a mask, raised the perfume bottle of disguised pheromones and entranced the young woman at once.

Stroking the woman's face lovingly, Pamela whispered a simple request: for the woman to lock herself away in the closet for an hour, and that, if she did as was told, a most sensual experience would be awaiting her as a reward. Manipulated, Pamela was overjoyed to see just what her experimental fumes were capable of. She knew this woman. Martha Tembrow, English major and known heterosexual mascot. How she swayed for Pamela… how she swayed for her sudden, artificial desires…

The final piece was smashing every exterior light, blackening the quarter. It would just look like another college prank… another attack for the weekend escapees. She made sure to smash her own light. Now, she was just a victim, along with the other four residents.

By the time she made her way back into the house, Alissa had already wrapped both of the bodies up in sheets, and both lay awaiting Pamela in the hall. Together, in silent, secretive intensity, they hoisted Patterson, stripped nude to ensure less weight, across the dark, silent quarter and into the back of the cruiser. Alissa nearly dropped him as they got close to the vehicle, and a threat of death from a pissed Pamela quickly assured that she would not repeat her sin. Kevin, thankfully, was much, much lighter than the heavy, muscled Patterson, and he took no time at all to get into the cruiser, laid across the top of Patterson's body.

Panting heavily, the two women leaned against the cruiser, catching their breath.

"How far is the marsh?" Alissa whispered, her heart hammering.

"Not far. About three or four miles. I always walk there from campus and it doesn't take long… thank Gaia that the university is on the edge of Gotham…"

Thank Gaia indeed. Murderers must remain secret.

Alissa, wearing thick gloves from Pamela's wardrobe, drove them silently down Mildred Road, delving deep into the thick, swampy brush of the Hallow. Pamela directed her down the right way, with a few twists and turns that eventually led to a dead end, the road concluding at the edge of a bog. As they approached, their headlights shined upon some napping alligators, who swam away, irritated by the lights in their eyes. Alissa sat frozen, her breath ragged and terrified.

"What are we doing?" she whispered to herself. Pamela's hand shot out and wrapped around her neck, and Alissa uttered a soft scream. Those mad, green eyes glinted dangerously in the dark.

"Dealing with it," was the short answer.

_Dealing with it…right…_ Alissa cried on the inside. Her hand squeezed the thick wad of hundreds in her pocket… such damn good money. She smiled, nodding. _Dealing with it…right…_

The two of them carried Kevin first, hoisting them down a narrow, heavily enshrubbed path that ran around the side of a large swamp cove. It was very difficult work. While Pamela helped carry the man's corpse, she had to simultaneously hold the flashlight in her mouth, moving her head about awkwardly to keep them on the right path. For ten minutes they delved deeper and deeper into the blackness, the air smelling heavily of rotten leaves and old moss… Bugs bit them. Crickets chirped. Frogs chorused.

"'Ere," Pamela seemed to mumble at last. They had at last reached the most secluded looking grotto, a fine swamp-side, grassy bank surrounded by blooming honeysuckle, saturating the air with their sickly sweet vapors. She let go of Kevin's body, and Alissa let out a soft scream as he dropped from her grasp and rolled away into the awaiting swamp water. Pamela hurriedly ran to pull him over, rolling him onto the bank and splashing water everywhere. "Come on," she said quickly. "The grass here is thick and endless. We can hide the bodies within its midst…"

Alissa helped her move aside huge clumps of thick grass, and eventually they were able to find a deep, natural enclave within the earth, in which they promptly deposited Kevin into his grave. It would be easy to cover this enclave with the grass and a mound of dirt. As deep into these woods as they were, it was almost guaranteed that he would never be found.

"Alright," panted Pamela, popping her neck loudly. "Patterson…"

The trip with Patterson took even longer, due to the man's bulk, and they dropped him several times on the way. It took a good half hour to get the fatass into the grave with Kevin, and when at last they had laid the demon into the hole, Pamela happily and unceremoniously delivered upon him a series of fierce, almost rhythmic kicks, jubilantly dancing about as her strike landed within his skin and bruised his waiting body… "I bet you never wanted to die like this!" Pamela hissed, kicking him across the face hard. She felt the nose break. "I bet you never wanted to die like a _fucking little bitch_!"

"Pam… we should go. Now…" Alissa's voice shook hard as she begged.

Pamela took Kevin's wallet from out of her shorts pocket and held it before the dead man's missing eyes. "Thank you, Kevin," she whispered, passionately enough. "I thank you. You have given me more than just wealth tonight. You were my first. You were my first and I thank you for it. May there be many more. I will send them your way."

"No, Pamela… you can't…"

"Perhaps you'd like to join them in this grave, Alissa… there is so much room."

"No! No, please…"

"Then hush, little mammal… hush…"

"Pamela-"

Pamela spun around and slapped her. The pop was so hard, so fierce, it sounded like a shotgun going off in this dense silence. Alissa fell onto the ground and doubled over in pain, holding her stinging face. Pamela stared down at her madly and darkly.

"Stop…calling…me…that…"

"It's your name!" Alissa cried. "Pamela, it's your name!"

_FUNCK! _Pamela's boot made contact with Alissa's face, and the latter's scream was terrible as she rolled forward, landing face first into the swamp water. Pamela knelt down and pulled her head up by the hair ends, and she whispered into Alissa's ear, "I-will-drown-you-if-you-don't-behave."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL YOU THEN!?" Alissa screamed, losing all sense of caution and secrecy. Pamela grinned, and hissed one word into Alissa's ear.

"Ivy."

There was so much ivy covering the exterior walls of the Zodiac Shire Manor. The place was eerily deserted, but Clark Kent knew better to assume that this was merely the way of a place's order. This was but the way of the current day. The sun shined down happily upon the castle-like home, magnifying the lavenders within the field with extravagant grace. He hovered above the estate, his long, crimson cape fluttering as the sea sent him a powerful, salty breeze. Frowning, he flew down to the rooftop of the manor, landing lightly upon the enclave of up-top veranda, examining the marshy fields below. This place gave him an odd feeling, but he was not sure why.

From his investigation, he had found the place to be abandoned. A woman lay dead on an upper floor, riddled with bullets, decked in SWAT body armor. Glass shards littered the upper floor. There had been a big library, at some point, but someone had sent it to flame recently: the west wing was still smoking through the charred remains of several rooms, yet the odd thing was that it had been stopped. No other part of the manor seemed touched by the burning that had obviously taken place, as if someone had come to put it out. Had it been home-based or terroristic?

Every room had given him the same traces of evidence: nothing and nada, nada and nothing. Woodrue had had an office: a boring, cleaned out room with nothing but the bronze nameplate upon the door. Someone had left in a hurry… someone had quite expertly cleaned the place out. Which brought forward the question: just where was Bruce Wayne?

Feeling very uneasy about this entire mess, he took out a small transceiver from his side (a gift, actually, from Bruce during their last collaboration) and punched in a single number: 3. The transceiver dialed up almost instantaneously, connecting to a satellite utilized by Wayne Enterprises, and suddenly a voice spoke from the other end, frantic.

"Mr. Kent, you've called in. Please tell me you have good news." Alfred sounded sick, and Kent shared his pain.

"He's not here. I've searched the entirety of this place, and it seems that someone cleaned this manor out. Bruce isn't anywhere to be found."

"My God…" Alfred's voice shook. A new voice suddenly join in, a frantic, and angry sounding, woman.

"Where the hell is he!? He's seriously not anywhere on the premises!?"

"Whoever was here recently tried to burn the place down, but someone or something out the fire out," Kent told them. "I can't say for sure what happened to Bruce; it's most likely he found the same thing as I did and left, which is nothing."

"No… he would have checked in," came a voice Kent did recognize. "He always makes sure to keep us in full Intel," said Dick Grayson. "He's in trouble, I know it…"

"Well there's nothing here. Nothing here at all to suggest where Woodrue may have gotten off to. The place is dead. I can see through walls and floors… you'd think Woodrue would have a secret base of operations for the kind of work he was doing, but there's nothing."

"Alright, alright, no panicking… the line's gone dead and we can't reach him from our end. When we were in contact last, Woodrue… he'd changed… somehow, I don't know what happened…" Alfred sounded as if he were fighting a very fine battle to keep himself strong and in control. One could easily sense the deep concern for Bruce in his shaking voice.

Kent, frowning deeper, walked about the roof, analyzing tall bushes of potted hedges that seemed to make a mini-two foot zigzag across the roof. "What kind of change?"

"Something organic. He did not sound human at all before we lost communications with Bruce. Like a… a monster of some sort…"

"A monster?" Kent stopped. "What kind of a mon-" _FWECK. _Something suddenly slapped him in the back of the head from behind. He felt nothing from this, and promptly turned to face the new annoyance. He beheld something before him that had not been there before. From the small hedges there had appeared a large, beastly shape, its humanoid-shaped body made from the hedges that Kent now saw were missing at a certain point in the zigzagging wall. It was living, walking hedge, and its arms were long and tendril-like. It raised one of its tendrils again, and swung it at his head.

Kent caught the swinging vine with ease, raising an eyebrow. "This is interesting…"

The creature let out a tremendous scream, something so inhuman and otherworldly… like the wind gurgling beneath water. "What are you talking about? What is that!?" Barbara Gordon cried from the other end. The creature growled again and swung its free arm at Kent, who sidestepped the beast with ease and focused intently upon the creature. Feeling heat rise behind his skull, he smiled and willed the energy building up within to burst forward. From his eyes exploded of fierce spray of flaming light, the beam cutting through the creature with delicate grace of ease… its head-shaped part went flying away, burning to cinders… and yet, it advanced forward, headless but still swinging at Kent with much furiosity. Kent, shaking his head in annoyance, leapt upward into the air, hovering above the scene at a ten foot pace. The creature, headless but uncaring, twisted its body upward and swung blindly at the air, unable to reach him. Kent studied the creature carefully.

"It seems like Woodrue's been growing some new form of life," he told Alfred and the others. "Some kind of…humanoid plant. The hedges on his roof just sprang to life and tried to attack me. And… oh, boy… looks like they're all doing it…" Everywhere across the rooftop now, the hedges were moving, twisting about and bending upwards, forming themselves into humanoid shapes that limped forward into a massive circle, all of them looking up at the hovering, invincible prey that was Clark Kent…

"Humanoid plants? That sounds exactly like what happened to Woodrue…"

"There's at least twenty…no, thirty of them," said Kent. "The roof is covered in these creatures." They were all flocking to the same spot, eager for their awaited feeding. They grouped together in an almost trained, organized fashion… "This place really needs to be burned to the ground…"

"Well we know that Bruce isn't there. According to Woodrue, before we lost contact, Bruce had been moved after they incarcerated him. I didn't think it was true, when Woodrue said it, but it really seems as if they've moved off of the property…"

"And he didn't see where they were? He didn't even hint…"

"The transmission kept cutting in and out. We haven't gotten a clear reading on just where Woodrue took him…"

Kent tried to force his mind to give him the appropriate solution. Trying to figure out just where Woodrue would have taken a captive Batman… he could have killed Bruce and left him here, in this manor… he could have had Bruce stuffed into a private jet and flown to God knows where… there seemed to be many possibilities…

"I just…don't know…" he admitted, feeling the defeat wash over him. Superman had lost this one. "I truly have no idea. If he had any documentation concerning exterior sites, he either cleared them out or burned them. Maybe capturing Bruce was essential to something. This estate must cost millions of dollars. Why abandon it? Why burn it? Did he know I was coming?"

"I don't see how he could…" said Alfred, sounding faint. Kent shook his head angrily.

"I… I'll keep looking, Alfred Pennyworth. I promise all of you, I will."

"And I'll set to work, too," Barbara said quickly. "We lost signal but with a little work, I think I can trace the location of last contact… I thought he would be there…"

"Set to work, then. Meanwhile, I'll handle things topside," Kent replied. "I'm heading back to Metropolis. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do here. Back home, though, I think I may have better insight."

"How!?" Dick demanded.

"Because Woodrue has friends there, that's why. Small-timers, really, compared to the work he's done. Academia Master of the Tri-Emblem."

"The Tri-Emblem!" Alfred breathed. "My God, that's right… Woodrue was a member of the organization! Genius minds with long-term goals on global preservation and resource management…"

"Yes. They're based in Metropolis. I wonder if one of them may know something about him that can give us a lead."

And with that, he dived forward, flying towards the massive flock of hungry abominations, and fire became the only thing they knew in their final moments…


	11. Chapter 11

"Are you still asleep?" Pamela whispered, her voice blank as the tears cascaded down her face. Fredericks did not reply. By now his skin was incredibly pale from the blood loss, and he wis breathing was fickle. He would pass away soon, she knew, and she was not sure if she had enough time to tell him everything before that happened. Part of her wanted to end him now… part of her wanted to let him go, if only to allow him hospital remedy before their next session together. However, both intentions seemed, for the worst, negligent in his duties, and for the best… well, either she would get the satisfaction of murdering him or she would get to see him revived so that he could actually pay attention to her words. Either way, there was a benefit to be had here… but what was the right course?

Shaking her head, sighing, she left him there and promised herself that a decision would be made upon her return. Her children carried her up, up, up into the darkness of the ceiling, pulling her quickly and giving her a blast of cool, indeed fine air. At the top, a small enclave in the wall brought her into her private room. The private room was actually the attic of the abandoned Mason Botanical, once a supply storage that now acted as her chamber of isolation. Here, a smaller lagoon poured down into the main chamber of her palace, her bed a massive, mutated mushroom. Attached to the walls were a variety of memoirs: her awards from university… photographs of her times spent with Jason… and of course, the poles.

The poles were special. There were four of them, spaced out evenly around the wide room. On three of the poles, a special. She only reserved the poles for the most specials of Specials… men and women who had personally struck her a truly unforgivable wound: the closest pole bore the impaled, rotting corpse of Otto Rock. He had long hung here, and his smell was unholy… for those who did not appreciate the sight, anyway. For her, it was proof of justice. Further along, Archibald Helan, decapitated but still in his Sunday tweed. His head had been devoured long ago… Next to him, Donovan Ventimago hung as he had died: nude and castrated, thick vines still wrapped boa-like around his throat… The fourth special was yet to come, because Jason was playing an elaborate game of hide-n-seek… but she was good at hide-n-seek. She would find him. His death would be the most artistic of all.

And there was Toxica, bound into the wall, her body jerking behind the immense pressure of vines that bound and gagged her. Pamela, stroking the base of these wonderful children, allowed her reprieve, and they released her at once. Toxica fell forward, hitting the floor hard, exhaling deeply and painfully.

"Better?" Pamela said softly, climbing onto the giant mushroom and studying her friend closely. "More comfortable?"

"Y-you didn't h-h-have to-" Toxica attempted, but Pamela cut across her quickly.

"-you should know better! You should have known better than to abandon me the way you did."

"I'm s-sorry… I'm sorry, Pammy…" From behind the eyes of Toxica, Alissa Jagner shook as she plead for forgiveness. Her masquera was running heavily. "I tried to come back as soon as I could. By the time I had arrived back in Gotham, he'd already nabbed you!"

"Makes me question if we work good as a team anymore," Pamela admitted, closely examining one of her ivy-clad arms lovingly. "Makes me wonder if you've forgotten your place, Alissa."

"Toxica," Alissa whispered quickly, looking frantic. Pamela raised her eyebrows.

"What?"

"Use… my real name…please…"

Pamela snorted. "Please… what right have you to it now? I had to get myself out of a very dangerous situation. A very, very dangerous situation. I almost lost everything. I almost lost Mother Earth's chance. The world almost fell into darkness. Call you by that name? No…" She straightened up to face Alissa. "You made a pact… you betrayed Mother Earth when you abandoned me."

"Mother Earth won't mind that I-"

"I AM MOTHER EARTH!" Pamela suddenly screamed, standing now, the massive vines rising at once to follow her movements, hissing violently at the cowering Alissa. "Do you understand?" Pamela whispered, her face relaxing back into a pleasant smile. She shrugged. "I am Mother Earth. I am the goddess incarnate. If I say you betrayed me… then this is fact. This is truth."

"Ivy…"

"No, Alissa… I do not know you." She turned away from Alissa, refusing to acknowledge her visually. "You must repent of your sins before I welcome you back into my graces."

"And just how do I do that!?" Alissa cried desperately. "Tell me how now!"

"Simple." Pamela snapped her fingers loudly. One of the largest tendrils slithered towards her, and she carefully settled herself upon it. "Sit." Alissa nodded at once, hurrying to obey Pamela with a fearful expression upon her face. At Pamela's silent command, they were hoisted away and lowered back down to where Fredericks lay. When they disembarked, Pamela indicated the nearly dead man. "This is Fredericks, the man chosen to represent the land of mammals. He would have sent me to Arkham, sealed away within a concrete hell, cut off from nature and cut off from serving my Will…"

Alissa nodded, kneeling down beside the man and gazing into his bleeding, bruised, cut up face. "You've done wonderful work with him," she praised Pamela, poking the man's empty eye socket with curiosity. Pamela nodded.

"Almost. He is almost fulfilled, but he is passing quickly. However, he must not die before our lesson has concluded."

"Lesson?"

"Yes. I am educating him. He needs to understand Mother Earth and why her mission has been established in the way that it has. He needs to know me… he needs to know _why_… He was doing so well, too. He managed to stay awake for so long, despite the love I showed for him… and now he has drifted away. Everything is out of balance, and it burns me. I want to press forward with what has to be done. So… Alissa, I need Batman."

"B-Batman?" Alissa began to sweat, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean, you need him?"

"Simple. I want him here. Fredericks is a valuable allure. I want you to draw Batman to me, Alissa. Atone for your sin. Draw Batman to me."

"Are you going to kill him!?" Alissa hissed, her voice shaking with excitement. Pamela shook her head.

"No… not yet. But Fredericks will die soon… I want someone in his place."

"Someone… in his place?"

"Yes…" Pamela fell down beside Fredericks now, and stroked the man's face. "I'm done with Fredericks… I know that now… But Batman has something that I need."

"What is that?"

Pamela grinned. "All the time in the world." She rubbed Frederick's nose softly. "I'm going to play with Fredericks for a little while longer. I hope to speak with him one last time, before I give him my gift…" She licked her lips. "Maybe Batman will stop me…"

Alissa noted her tone of voice, and stroked her chin for a moment. "You sound…as if you want him to…"

Pamela shrugged. "Who knows?" she whispered, wiping away her tears. "Maybe I need him to…"

"But-"

"Go away… now…"

Alissa tried to say something, but then decided that Pamela was so far gone at this point, nothing would happen save for a quick and ensured demise on her behalf. She turned away, head hanging as her thoughts began to circulate madly, her fist clenched. She was going to get changed, and she would leave this place…perhaps for good. Her mind began to reel back to the thens and theres. All seemed like a dream. As she prepared to leap across the gap to where a huge clump of vines awaited (Pamela seemed to have forgotten that they were in the middle of the lagoon), a vibration suddenly began at her thigh. Her cell.

Flipping it open, she saw the name on the screen and frowned.

"Ivy?" She looked around at Pamela, heart hammering.

"I thought I said to go away…" came the very dangerous whisper. Alissa, heart pounding in fear now, had to think of a way to relay the message before Pamela's inevitable attack. She thought of the word… but she was unsure of the impact.

"Joker." Such a small, mystical word, but it was all that she had. And it got Pamela's attention. The poisonous redhead turned at once, her face paling.

"What?"

Alissa held up the phone. The name "Joseph Kerr" flashed across the screen, with the accompanying phone number "444444444444." Pamela strode forward at once, eyes wide, and snatched the phone out of Alissa's hard, tapping the **Answer** button with a shaking finger.

"Now that wasn't very nice at all," a whimsical, patronizing voice said from the other end of the line. "You could have just waited for her to hand it to you, you little redheaded hellion, you." A mad little giggle. "Treat the blonde with respect." Pamela's eyes widened more prominently, and she set to observing the room around her at once, searching the high windows in the darkness above. Another mad giggle. "Stop looking around like a crazed sparrow. It's very distracting."

"Where are you!?" she demanded, her voice uneasy.

"Here, there, and everywhere. Red, blue, and Timbuctoo. Musty prons and livable goo, I have a rocket aimed right…at…you…" Now a mad bout of laughter. "So, your trial was astounding! I admired the way you systematically slaughtered the only legal means you possessed for freedom. That's very…Jokerish… ha ha… so, while I have you on the line, would you like to know what me and my rocket have in mind for you?"

"Tell me where you are," Pamela whispered, crouching down as if to shield herself from the eyes of the Joker. Alissa looked very troubled indeed, quivering.

"Let's talk…money. You like money, Rosebud? Or is it Rosebed? Hard to tell with you. I like money. I mean, it's _boring_… you can't do much with money, but…still… it adds a bit of spruce to an otherwise meaningless charade of breath. Fortunately for me… you owe _me money_."

"No!" Pamela hissed. "N-no, that was Woodrue! That was Woodrue! I had nothing to do with-"

"Tick, tock, my rocket's cocked…"

Pamela froze. "I- I'm… Woodrue…"

"Enough about Woody. He's been blathering on for an hour now about you and quite frankly, it's been nauseating…"

"W-what!?"

"_THAT'S RIGHT." _A new voice. A new, terrible, terrifying voice… a voice of the devil. She froze. She had never heard a voice like that before… "_HELLO, PAMELA."_

"W-what is that?" she whispered. "Who is that?"

_"IT'S THE VOICE OF GOD. IT'S THE VOICE OF THE HIGHEST OF HIGH. AND OH HOW I'VE MISSED YOU…"_

"Who is this?"

_"IT'S VIRIDI DEUS… THE GREEN GOD."_

She nearly dropped the phone. _It's him!_ "Jason…"

"You should see this guy, Ivy," the Joker cut in, giggling with utter joy. "He's got a lot of bark, and a lot of bite… no… no, _God_, that was awful… let me try again. He has a lot of…hmm… what kinds of tree jokes can I make, let me see… oomph!" A noise of cluttered interference, and suddenly Woodrue was speaking again.

_"WE HAD PLANNED ON INTERCEPTING YOU AS THEY DROVE YOU TO ARKHAM. JUDGE KROKER WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU THE INSANITY ROUTE: LET YOU STEW IN THE CASTLE DUNGEON, SO TO SPEAK. HOWEVER… YOU TOOK MATTERS INTO YOUR OWN HANDS. NO MORE, PAMELA. I HAVE SOMEONE THAT I WANT YOU TO MEET, AND YOU WILL MEET THIS PERSON TONIGHT. I COMMAND IT-"_

"Gimme, gimme!" the Joker was crying. "I wanna talk to her, me, me!"

"_SILENCE, CLOWN. YOU'LL GET YOUR TURN."_

"Oh, silence, eh?" A silent pause… and then-

_BANG! _The most terrible sound, a growling of unearthly demonicee. Pamela's mind began to spin at once as she gripped the phone tightly, and she hurriedly cut the call.

"Move!" she hissed, leaping forward, thinking to call forth her vines and ride them away into the dark… but even as she took the first breath of adrenaline pumped intensity, the ceiling above them exploded. Glass rained down and flooded the hall, and Pamela went down with a scream. Alissa dove forward, cartwheeling over Fredericks and into the thick brush nearby, pulling the man with her as shards of the roof crashed down. The giant plant in which they sat stirred angrily, vines swinging excitedly as it grumbled loudly, issuing a foul-smelling steam. The world around them shook violently. From above, black figures were descending down as metal ropes whirled down onto the plant. These black figures came armed, too. Pamela saw them automatics in tow. _Mother Earth, no! _

Two of them landed, and she saw that they were armored and masked in ventilation hoods. They held her at gunpoint, forcing her down, and all she could do was stare up as more and more figures descended down into her kingdom. Bursts of machine gun fire went off in every direction. Her vines were ascending from the lagoon and they were striking at the descending gunmen, alarmed by their Mother's plight, and she heard their screams as bullets riddles their bodies. _NO! NO! NO! STOP HURTING THEM! _

"Stop hurting them, please!" she screamed aloud, struggling against the thugs who held her down, but they were very strong and their combined efforts subdued her. Alissa and Fredericks had vanished. She could not see them anywhere. One of the figures descending down now was very mirthful, positively gleeful as he madly screamed a bout of laughter, spinning about on the metal rope. He landed into their midst with such grace, and, with a scream of "Ta-da!" proceeded to skip around until he was crouched level with the incapacitated Pamela. Kneeling near her, he breathed into her face, "Did you miss me?" His long, albino tongue gave regards to her left cheek, and she flinched in her revulsion.

The Joker smacked his lips delicately. "Your taste has changed. It hasn't been _that_ long since we last met, Pamela, darling, has it? So much change in such a short amount of time…" He grinned as he looked over his shoulder. "Right, Jagner?"

Alert, several of the masked men ran forward into the thick brush. From there, a sudden burst of light exploded outward, and a thick green gas overwhelmed the five pursuers. But they merely stood there, confident, as the poisonous fog swirled about them. Their suits seemed to be holding up very well. Three of them beat their way through the thick brush, all the while gunfire continued as more and more of the vines ascended to attack the invaders. Pamela's heart broke. This grand, beautiful creature atop which they sat… it could devour them whole… but it would never do so as long as she were present. It would not endanger its Mother.

Alissa's scream was irritable as they dragged her and Fredericks out of the darkness. She began to cough violently as they were both thrown forward at the feet of the Joker, who danced about excitedly, examining both of them. "Delightful, cherry-some and free-spirited, the lot!" the Joker hissed contentedly. "Behold, a pinnacle of reason." He nudged Fredericks with a toe, who could moan in agony. It had now gotten to that point for the man. "Behold, a pinnacle of spirit." He nudged Alissa's nose with the tip of his well-polished loafer. She responded with her own reason: saliva across his fine shoes.

The Joker's grin faded, and instead, a look of utter annoyance spread across his pasty-white features. "Not cool," he whispered dangerously, crouching down and yanking her by the hair to better face with her. Alissa gritted her teeth and growled in anger. "Not. Cool. At. All." He reached to his side and pulled out a silver toy of fine quality indeed: the 357 magnum rested gently against Alissa's temple. Pamela, despite herself, betrayed all of her own reason.

"No!" she screamed, her voice quivering with fear for Alissa's life. The Joker looked around, licking his red lips.

"No?" he whispered, looking awed. "Not at all. Not even a little bitty boopy woopy _BOOM!_" He shouted the last word, and Pamela and Alissa both flinched in terror. The Joker giggled darkly. "But she spat on my nice shoes… what am I supposed to do about that, Pamela?"

"I-I don't, I don't know!" Pamela gritted her teeth hard, and looked around the room desperately. "Just don't kill Alissa, don't, just…" Her eyes went from Alissa's pale, quivering face to the nearly dead Fredericks. At that moment, she decided her lesson could never be learned. "Him. Kill him. Kill that man on the floor there. He's nothing to either of us. Murder him!"

The Joker considered Fredericks, who could barely keep his remaining eye open as he stared up into the pasty-white face of death itself.

"What's your name, pal?" the Joker whispered, bouncing the magnum around in his hands like an acrobat juggling. Fredericks, so weak that words would have been most impossible, merely rested his head to the side and closed his remaining eye, praying to God to bring the end already. "You've done some work on him… yes, you have…"

"_CLOWN. WHERE ARE YOU?" _

Pamela's heart froze again. That terrible, demonic voice seemed so much louder now…so much darker now… She gazed up at the ceiling, her eyes wide with terror. A dark, massive shadow was descending upon them. The darkest of shadows. The most terrible of blacknesses… He descended down upon them with vines as his steed, giant, black vines that seemed to come from outside… they were not her own… The madman! He was not even human in appearance anymore. His body was crafted from bark, his hair from moss. He was a Spriggan of legend, a terrible source of unnatural form, with an unnatural voice to match. He descended down and came to stand over her. He was the boogeyman from the closet. He was the creature beneath the bed. He was the whisper in the darkness…

And those _eyes_! How green they _glowed_!

"Enough is enough," one of the masked soldiers, a woman, called out to the Joker. "We need to get moving."

The Joker looked around at her, and raised his magnum without hesitation. The shot that rang exploded out deafened all within close proximity, and even Fredericks leapt out of his weak slumber, crying out and making the first sound in a long while. Glass and brains both flew from the woman's destroyed helmet and she fell backwards over the edge of the plant, crashing into the lagoon below. "Oops," he giggled.

At once, every gun was turned on him, save for the soldiers who held Alissa and Pamela at bay, and Woodrue turned on him at once.

"_WHY_?"

"Because her voice, it sounded like a chicken's, did you notice? Just "_cluck, cluck, cluck_," all day long… it really grated me after a while… Come now, boys and girls: don't be stupid."

"_I CAN GIVE THE ORDER TO HAVE YOU SHOT WHERE YOU STAND,_" Woodrue hissed dangerously, and it was evident that this was a promise. _"THEY WILL OBEY."_

"Ah, but then who will give you water and sunshine and all the samples of European and Asian soil, eh?" the Joker cooed, kissing his magnum with love. "I have _promises_ on the table, Woodrue, don't forget. And don't forget who is running this masquerade."

Woodrue stepped forward threateningly. "_MASQUERADE!?" _

"Just a figure of speech, Groot… just a figure of speech…"

_"I WILL TOLERATE LITTLE FROM YOU, CLOWN."_

"I imagine he'll tolerate even less from me than you will." The Joker suddenly pointed upward. Woodrue gasped, and spun around. Sure enough, the Joker was not seeing things.

A darkness stood up there, perched upon a girder in the ceiling, situated perfectly in between the shattered window where the Joker had entered. The darkness stood up and pointed a solitary hand at the pair. "Enough is enough," came the battered old voice.

Woodrue stepped backwards, screaming in a terrible, rage-filled cry, "_NO! NO, YOU'RE DEAD! YOU'RE DEAD!" _

But the Batman chose to defy these proclamations, and instead descended down upon them, his black cape spreading out as he glided down. As he came, he raised his arm, and a small sphere propelled itself from his armor, zooming across the air right at their feet.

"Batman, buddy! Yay!" the Joker jumped about excitedly, raising his magnum in glee. "I missed you, old buddy, old pal!" Even as the first shot rang out, the sphere that Batman had launched hit the ground hard, and in the next moment, a fierce blast of white light overtook the room. Everything paled and all within close proximity went blind at once. Pamela screamed as her vision was lost. Her captors fell away, one of them teetering over the edge of the plant and falling with a scream into the lagoon below. The Joker's shot missed Batman by a long way, who now landed before them, a Batarang in hand.

Shots fired from every direction. Woodrue, trying to force his own vision to come back from the powerful flash blast, swung blindly. The Batman, however, was moving fast, landing a kick into the chest of Pamela's other captor, who fell onto his back, shooting wildly at the ceiling.

Batman grabbed Pamela by the back of the neck, and forced her to face him. She gazed into those light blue eyes, filled with all the fire and agony of a very rendered man on a dark plan, and she felt fear like no other…

"Here's the plan…" he began, hissing darkly to her…

"The plan is simple, Alissa, and if you are unable to follow through with it… I'll kill you. I promise… Please confirm that you understand. Confirm that you understand that we know nothing about the whereabouts of that officer or that bastard Kevin…" Pamela watched the rain pour out of the café window, sipping calmly from her glass of iced Cola. Alissa sat at the table with her head bowed, focusing intently on the checkerboard red and black diamond pattern of the tablecloth. The café was deserted at this time of night. It was one in the morning, and the only employee on duty sat in the back office, half-asleep and waiting for the buzzer on the door to go off. "Alissa? Do you hear me?"

"Yeah… I hear you…" Alissa mumbled. She picked up her own root beer and sipped at it pathetically, staring out towards the rain as well, and wondering… _Are those bodies being washed up even now? Has an alligator started eating their entrails? Will a hunter find them out there during some private fishing excursion? _"Pamela… I think we should have burned them."

"Burned them?" Pamela considered Alissa carefully. "Why?"

"I don't know… how secret is your secret place? Really?"

"Really? I assure you, it's going to be fine. Mother Earth protects us."

"I can keep your secret," Alissa whispered, shaking her head. "I can. But let's not pretend, Pamela. Let's be straight with one another. Okay?"

"Okay?" Pamela gave Alissa her fullest concentration. Alissa sighed.

"I don't like what you did. I hate what you did. You are a murderer. You are a criminal, and you are a… a psychopath…" Alissa's heart was hammering. She did not know why she was braving saying these things to…well, a psychopath who had already murdered two men this night… but it was all so fierce and boiling within, and she could not stop herself. Pamela, meanwhile, listened patiently, with a pleasant expression. "Patterson deserved to die. He deserved to die. Kevin… Kevin did not. You had never even met Kevin before tonight, had you? He was in my classes. He did so well in them, too. He had a fine future ahead of him. He wanted to work with soldiers who were suffering from PTSD. Now… now he's moldering away, in a swamp! And… and the worst part of it was… I was happy when you handed me that cash! That cash that you took off of the body… I was _happy _that you had given it to me… I'm not supposed to be happy about that!"

"Then don't be happy about that," Pamela suggested. "Don't be ecstatic that you could buy two very fine cars with that money. Don't be happy that you can afford a house and pay off its mortgage, or that you could take a vacation to Jamaica, or Europe and cruise the ancient wonders of the world. Don't feel good about any of that."

"Don't!" Alissa hissed, holding up a firm finger, her temper lost. "Don't! You're a crazy bitch, do you know that!?"

Pamela seized up, paling fiercely. "What?" she mumbled, her eyes widening madly. Alissa held her ground, shaking her head as the tears came.

"You are! You're crazy! You're a psychotic nutball! Why!? WHY DID YOU DO IT!?" She screamed this time, unable to control herself. "WHY DID YOU DO IT!?"

"Alissa…" Pamela's eyes snapped towards the door that led into the back. The lady on duty was looking around the doorway, staring over at them with an odd expression. "…Alissa, you're endangering people."

"ENDANGERING PEOPLE!?" Alissa, uncomprehending as to the meaning of Pamela's words, stood up, her face contorted into rage. "I'M NOT THE ONE ENDANGERING PEOPLE! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO COMMITTED MURDER AND FORCED ME TO-"

_SMASH! _The bottle of Cola swung fast as an arrow and exploded right beside Alissa's hand. Glass shards flew everywhere, and it shut Alissa right the hell up. Pamela sat quietly, hand still rested gently across the tabletop, eyes closed. She sighed loudly.

"No, no, and double no, Alissa… why can't you see that, Alissa? Why, Alissa? What is it with you, Alissa?" She pushed herself from out of the booth and sighed again, shaking her head as she approached the counter. Alissa could only stare after her, wide-eyed and terrified. Pamela glanced around at her. "Alissa…wait for me. I expect you to still be there when I return… Don't you dare disobey: for goodness sake, don't disobey." She was so quiet as she said it, so docile.

In the back, the young woman on duty was desperately fumbling with her purse for something, glancing around, terrified. She saw Pamela crawling over the counter, crawling on all fours in her filthy, rain-soaked jogging suit, a look of cold, cold fury etched between the eyes and lines of her mouth. The woman let out a soft scream and wrenched for the door, slamming it shut. Pamela heard the lock snap on the other side as she approached.

"I'm calling the police!" the woman was screaming. "I heard everything! I heard everything!"

Pamela looked around at Alissa, looking disappointed. "You're a fucking moron," she hissed in the latter's direction, before crouching down beside the door and peering beneath it through the crevice. She could see still feet and frantic movement, followed by a fearful, "Shit! Where is it!?"

Pamela felt disappointment for the employee as well. Two violations. One, always keep your cell phone on your person at all times. Two… have a phone in the break room… seriously. There would naturally be one in the manager's office, which was to Pamela's right.

Taking the perfume bottle in hand, she stuck the nozzle of it into the crevice and unleashed a barrage of what was so swiftly becoming her favorite toy. The pheromones rose up and wafted into the room, enshrouding the desperate woman and quickly silencing her frantic whisperings and tears. Such a silent room. Such an obedient room.

"Oh, my…" the woman inside gasped, and she sounded very elated. That voice quivered with excitement, and could never have feared what was on the other side. It was a committed high. Industrial perfection.

"Knock, knock," Pamela sang lightly as she tapped on the door. "Guess who's here?" she whispered into the cracks, her voice inviting and calm. "Is there someone in there?"

"W-what…?" A little giggle. "H-uh?"

"Open that door… I want to add to your happiness…"

"Who… what… you're…you're a killer, HA HA!" The woman on the other side sounded out of her mind. "Who… whoooo…. Murderer… HA… HA!"

Pamela frowned. What… what was going on? She glanced down- and froze. She was still pumping the pheromones into the room. She had not realized that she had not stopped squeezing. Quickly wrenching her hand backwards, she saw that the bottle was almost emptied. _Oops…_

"HA… HA… HA…" Random intervals of laughter sounded from behind the wood-work. The woman within was lost, and it was not within this reality. "HA! HA! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" She was laughing uncontrollably. "BEAUTIFUL NIGHT! KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK! KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!"

Alissa was standing at the counter, staring down the way. "What did you do to her?" she breathed. Pamela looked around, and bit her lip.

"Too much."

The door behind her exploded. Pamela leapt backwards, heart leaping at once. The employee had unlocked the door and kicked it open. Her skin was violent shade of red. She was perspiring very noticeably, and her eyes were bloodshot! Her face was twisted into a mad grin, and she was giggling uncontrollably. "So beautiful," she hissed, reaching out for Pamela, who was suddenly very horrified. "So beautiful! Goddess! GODDESS!"

Pamela froze again. Goddess? The woman was looking at her with obsession…with desire… She fell to all fours, and began to crawl forward, overwhelmed by weaponized ecstasy. Pamela backed away more and more, but the woman was persistent in her crawling, desperate to touch a fragment of Pamela's body with a shaking, outstretched hand…

"This is horrible," Alissa whispered.

"This is beautiful," Pamela sighed. "Look at this, Alissa. Really look at this. Study it, analyze it, and make a hypothesis. Deduce the outcome. Deduce the future. What you see is what you get…" She crouched down, and took the woman by the hand, who screamed out something between a cry and laughter. "…utter, total, undeniable, unhindered, _perfected_… slavery."

"S-slavery?"

"No… not slavery… _devotion. Worship!" _

"Worship," the woman drooled, her head falling against Pamela's shoe. Pamela twiddled the woman's long black hair in hand as her zombie groveled. "Worship… worship…"

"Yes. Worship. Uncorrupted. Perfect worship," Pamela agreed, looking around at Alissa in joy. "Have hope, Jagner. Your idiocy has made way for absolute experimentation. This is proof. No sex, no gender is immune. My influence is un-discriminatory and perfected. And it has to be used again. And again. And again."

"For what?" Alissa begged of Pamela, throwing her arms up in frustration. "What is there to gain, Pamela!?"

"Ivy." Pamela's face darkened. Alissa gritted her teeth.

"No, I'm not going to-"

"I-v-y," Pamela emphasized, hoisting the employee to her feet. The woman could not stop touching Pamela, and Pamela allowed a full exploration, sexually disassociated. Women were not her preference… but this was for experimentation. Sexual inducement? Attraction to what caliber? How far could her influence really go? "I want my name."

"Your name is- your name is-" Alissa kicked the counter. "Fine, it's… it's _Ivy_… Ivy… what will you gain? Money? Is that what you want? You want to gas up every rich guy and girl you see and steal their wallets? Wanna make a fortune on highs and- and-" She looked sick. "- and… oh, damn it… Ivy, this is nothing more than a date-rape drug, except that there's no chance of-"

"Of what, Alissa?" Pamela asked quietly, cradling the woman against her. The woman's face was buried into her neck, hard at work… Even though it disgusted her, personally, for a woman to be making such an advance upon her, it was still fully entertaining to see the absolute enthrallment. "Of what?"

"Of refusal…" Alissa's voice quivered. "Of…anything… _God_… there's no hope for escape, is there?"

Pamela nodded. "None. I could do anything I wanted to them." She yanked the woman's hair very hard. It barely fazed the worshipper. She could not pull herself away from Pamela, who was positively doused in the plant pheromones. "I could make them hand me their wallet, Alissa. I could steal all of their money and _make_ them laugh about it with me. I could punch them in the face, and make them apologize to me for it… or, hell…" She glanced at Alissa. "…I could bring them back to my place and make a very beautiful video for the entire world to see. I could make them my personal pornstar… Wouldn't that be magical?"

"Pa- I… Ivy…"

"No, no. Oh, _Heavens_, no." Pamela shoved the woman, who, according to the nametag on her shirt was Beverly, away, and turned fully to confront Alissa now. Beverly assaulted Pamela again, who paid her no mind. "Oh, Heavens no, Alissa, no… that wouldn't do, would it? I can't do that. I'm not allowed to do that. Everyone else is… but not me."

Alissa could not find the words that she desired for. Pamela's green irises were alive with fire and hatred. Alissa could see it, too, deep within. Hatred for the world, and for its denizens. She hated the world. She truly hated it. It was so evident in those tormented green windows to the soul. For a moment, Pamela was a small girl, watching every child on her block get ice cream from the happy blue truck while mom and dad refused to give her even the slightest trace of a quarter…

Alissa's heart panged hard. When she closed her eyes, a face suddenly came to her through that ocular darkness: Otto Rock, and with him, Donovan Ventimago appeared, Archbald Helan bringing up the rear. Her eyes snapped open.

"God… I'm sorry, Ivy… I'm so sorry, Ivy…"

"So am I."

Alissa frowned, and examined Pamela's face. It looked serious.

"What?"

"I… I'm sorry… I don't deserve to- to do to them what they did to-"

"Yes you do."

Pamela froze, and her eyes widened. "What?" Inside, she smiled. _Yeah, that's right, Alissa. Feel for me. Feel for me and know my pain. Feed off of it. Agree with me. Acknowledge my ways… come on, Alissa… show me your vulnerability. _"What do you mean?" she sighed. "I don't deserve revenge. I shouldn't be thinking of it like that. I should just…let Otto Rock get away with what he did. No one will help me, anyway…"

"I will."

Pamela raised an eyebrow. _Gotcha. _"What?"

Alissa was shaking madly, on the verge of screaming. "I'll help you." She took Pamela's hands in her own. Pamela smiled. _I didn't even need the pheromones…or… did I? _She grinned. The pheromones were affecting Alissa now. She was getting a small dose of it… but they were definitely there.

"I'll help you," Alissa whispered. "I'll…give you your justice. I want to see Rock dead. Him and the assholes who did what they did to you. I'll help you…"

_What a fine thing indeed. But…_

Pamela nodded. "Will you prove it to me?"

"P-prove it to you?"

"Yes… prove to me that you're willing to do what it _takes_…"

"How do I do that, Pamela?"

"I'll show you, by example."

Pamela shovered Beverly away, and casually strolled over to the counter exit this time, unlocking the little door. She gestured at Beverly to follow, who desperately and wildly chased afterward. Alissa watched them walk over to the table where they had sat, Pamela's face dark and calculating. One by one, Pamela wrenched shut the blinds on the windows (though they were on a country road on the outskirts of Porda-Bay Village, and not a human would drive past here for hours, most likely).

Settling Beverly to a stand-still before her, Pamela whispered, "Stand right there… I have something for you."

"For me…something for me, something for me, me, me, me…" Beverly, dazed and swaying, grinned at the ceiling, her eyes wide and elated.

Picking up the broken bottle from earlier, Pamela nodded. "Yes, I do." She glanced at Alissa. "Alissa, babe… I need you to prove your loyalty to me by doing one thing. One thing… one beautiful thing… and if you can, I'll accept your help. Because we're in this together, aren't we?"

"Ivy…?" Alissa was looking from the bottle to Beverly to Pamela. "What are you-"

"Third time's a charm," Pamela hissed. The bottle went up, the broken end pointing down… and when it came down, and Beverly's neck opened up, Alissa understood exactly what Pamela wanted of her…..


	12. Chapter 12

When Bruce Wayne awoke from the deepest, darkest slumber, it was to the most horrible of scenarios: nightmares had meaning here. The room smelled rank, and was very dark. The dimmest of lights illuminated the scene, and the room was a metallic tomb. Odd creakings were bouncing around the walls.

He was strapped to some kind of table, bound by thick black ties. It was also apparent that he was now fully nude: they had finally managed to strip him of his armor. The table was cold against his bare skin. He could move his head, thankfully, and turned it about, trying to make sense of what he lay.

It did not take him long to identify the porthole. Beyond its shining, well-polished glass, the Pacific teemed with colorful life as vibrant fish swam by. A starfish, lavender in color, rested on the edge of the porthole.

"Hello?" Bruce called out, gritting his teeth.

Almost as soon as he said it, an alarm went off somewhere above, the light temporarily turning crimson as it let out a foghorn-like call. It lasted only for a few seconds and died down just as quickly as it had come. However, something new came just as fast. In the middle of what Bruce was realizing quickly was a mockery of a hospital ward, a blue light suddenly shot up from the floor's ventilation shaft. A shape appeared from out of thin air, forming into arms, legs and the grisly apparition of-

"_AWAKE AT LAST." _

Woodrue was there… and yet he was not. The hologram was very life-like, but occasionally flickered out of form for the briefest of seconds. That voice was very mechanical through this computer simulation, not as grating as it had been to hear the real thing.

"Where am I, Woodrue?" Bruce demanded, knowing better than to waste his strength trying to pull himself away.

"_ON THE EVE. SPECIFICALLY, UNDER THE PACIFIC NEAR SAN FRANSISCO. WE'VE MOVED DOWN COASTLINE. I WANTED NO INTERRUPTIONS."_

_ "_Well that figures. Congratulations on doing that, too. You're actually a very well thought out man, Woodrue." Bruce meant what he said, too. Woodrue nodded.

_"NATURALLY. BY NOW WOODRUE MANOR HAS GONE UNDER. IT WILL BE REBORN WHEN THE KINGDOM IS BUILT. I HAVE NO NEED OF ITS OLD SHELL. YOUR SUPER FRIEND ARRIVED… SUPERMAN… WHAT A SHAME. A MAN LIKE THAT, WITH SUCH GOD-LIKE POTENTIAL… HE WASTES HIS LIFE SERVING THE LESSERS. WITH THAT GOD'S POWER, EDEN COULD BE REALIZED, BRUCE. EDEN COULD BE APPRECIATED." _

"Who knows…" Bruce smiled. "You're the scientist. If you say it, it must be true. So, why am I not dead? You did the smart thing, you got me away from where Superman could find me… but why not kill me? I denied you."

_"I WAS RASH, BRUCE. I WAS SO VERY RASH. I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS. I COULD NOT SEE BEYOND MY OWN PASSIONATE DESIRES. MY OWN PASSIONATE FURY BLINDED ME FROM TRUTH. I COULD NEVER HAVE SUPERMAN. I COULD NEVER HAVE SUCH A CREATURE. NOT UNTIL THE FINAL DAYS OF THIS EARTH. BUT I CAN HAVE YOU. I WILL HAVE YOU. I MUST HAVE YOU." _

"So… what have you done, then?" Bruce sighed, and reserved himself accordingly. To acknowledge was to appreciate the circumstances. "Really… what have you done?"

"_AN INJECTION OF THE NYROX POISON. HOWEVER, I NEEDED YOU TO BE AWAKE, BECAUSE THERE IS A PRE-STAGE."_

"A pre-stage? You were going to kill me back in the lab, there was no pre-stage…"

"_AS I TOLD YOU… MY PASSION GOT THE BETTER OF ME. I WANTED TO KILL YOU SO BADLY, IT BLINDED ME… IT BLINDED ME, BRUCE, AND I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS. BEFORE YOU ARE GIVEN THE LETHAL INJECTION, YOU'LL NEED THE BRAIN SURGERY. I WANTED YOU TO BE CONSCIOUS FOR IT…"_

Bruce's insides froze. Brain surgery? He glanced upward. Sure enough, there was a curious, dome-shaped headwear settled above, and in the middle of it… rows and rows of small-saw-like blades and needles. The Batman felt fear in that moment.

"_I WILL CORRECT YOUR BRAIN. I WILL CORRECT YOUR MIND. YOU HAVE TO BE REPROGRAMMED BEFORE THE SMALL DEATH. LASETTA KNOWS THIS. AND LOOK WHAT SHE'S BECOME." _

And suddenly, the entire room faded away at once. Bruce found his entire surroundings vanishing into dark, and they were suddenly being replaced by a new room entirely. He was still bound to the table, though, and he knew at once that, somehow, impossibly, Woodrue had expanded the hologram from the room in which he had broadcasted, and this was merely that extension. He was still in the same room he had awoken in… but it was hidden behind this extended hologram.

The home was lavishing. The main foyer of this spectacular mansion was beautiful. The floor was polished to pure perfection, mirroring everything above it was the strongest reflective sheen. The grand staircase was navy blue carpeted, and hanging above the hall was the most spectacular marble statue of a dragon-like creature with butterfly wings. Coy swum in a pool to the right. It was every stereotype of a rich man's castle. Above the staircase was a crimson banister that spread the room's length, upon which, in gold lettering, read _RILEE. _

This was the home of the Rilee family. Lasett'a home.

"_I BROUGHT LASETTA HOME…"_

Yes, Woodrue had. The hall was filled with bodies. Maids and butlers lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies pale with poison running in their veins. In the very middle of these, a group of four people, huddled together, dark-skinned and Latino like Lasetta… her family. They had all died together, holding each other, their poisoned faces twisted into terror, little fungi sprouts decorating their defiled corpses.

Lasetta herself knelt down beside them, gently shaking the bodies, a look of deepest confusion upon her features. She did not know what was wrong with these people. Woodrue was standing behind her, staring at Bruce.

"You had her kill her own family…?" Bruce's voice trembled with rage. "You had her _murder_ her own family!?"

"_THE RILEES PAID ME MY DEMANDS. I BROUGHT THEIR DAUGHTER BACK TO THEM, ACCORDING TO MY WORD. I AM A MAN OF MY WORD." _

"Why!?" Bruce demanded, teeth gritted madly. "WHY DID YOU DO THIS!? You have nothing to gain from any of this!"

"_I HAVE EVERYTHING TO GAIN FROM THIS. EVERYTHING. LASETTA IS PERFECTION. SHE IS MOTHER EARTH. SHE WILL SHOW THIS WORLD THE MEANS TO RESTORE EDEN. THE MEANS TO RESTORE MY THRONE. I SWEAR IT NOW. IT BEGAN TO WITH THE RILEES… IT WILL END WITH THE RILEES…" _

"I am going to stop you," Bruce swore, and this time, foolishly, he did strain against his holds, even though it did nothing. "I am going to stop you."

Lasetta was looking up at Bruce now, scared of this shouting, angry man. She pointed at Bruce in fear, mouthing a soundless question to Woodrue, who grabbed her shoulder gently and nodded.

"_THIS MAN, HERE," _he told her, _"IS A GOOD MAN. HE IS G-O-O-D. HE IS TO BE YOURS, LASETTA. YOU MUST LOVE HIM. HE IS CUSTOS. CAN YOU SAY C-UU-SS—T-OO-SS…?" _

Lasetta opened her mouth, and her teeth gritted. "Cudddooon…." She pointed at Bruce, her expression blank yet strangely perplexed. "_Cuddooonnn…."_

Woodrue kissed the top of her head. _"IN TIME…YOU WILL UNDERSTAND, CHILD." _He looked up at Bruce. _"AWAIT ME, BRUCE. AWAIT GOD. YOUR BRAIN WILL NOW BE REMOVED, AND REPROGRAMMED. GOODBYE."_

Woodrue held up a little black remote, and pressed a button. At once, the room around Bruce faded, and he sunk back into his own reality, completely alone…

If only…

When the room back on the submarine rematerialized, he was greeted by a new face, who came out from the shadows with a soft smile.

"Bruce Wayne. I never would have expected this myself…" The man wore a white lab coat over what seemed to be a black, leathery sort of shirt. In the dim light, Bruce could see blonde, gelled hair. The man's skin was pale, and his eyes… his eyes weren't human. They burned…almost crimson. Orangey-crimson… "Nice touch, the hologram, isn't it?" The man admired the ventilation in the floor finely enough. "I developed it myself. Woodrue bought it for a fine price indeed. I'm planning on going with a mass marketing venture, eventually…" He turned his attention back to Bruce. "How uncomfortable is that table, there?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Why reprogram the brain? That's risky. You'd risk killing the patient before the assimilation process began!"

The doctor nodded. "Oh, too true. Finally, someone with vision. Woodrue is a fine man, who grasps fine ideas… but when it comes to basic human anatomy, the man is a minus at best. He thinks with plants, not neutrons and hemispheres. Naturally, in my line of work, a broad understanding of the world is best noted…"

"What is he paying you to do this? Does it pay the bills? Does it feed the family?"

The doctor smiled, and leaned against the wall. "Does it indeed? Naturally, my income is superior to that of Jason Woodrue's. However, I'm in it for the field research… not the income." The man popped his neck loudly. "Call me Dr. W…"

"Dr. W…?"

"It's all you need to know. Let me go over details, Bruce Wayne. Woodrue will be expecting results soon."

"What details would that be?"

W smiled. "It's a simple matter of reasoning. I'd like to establish a core of truths. Inevitable truths. Basically… you and I want the same thing."

Bruce frowned. _Who is this guy?_

"Do tell," he implored W. W nodded.

"Do you hate this _Floronic Man_?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Do I hate him?

"Do you wish to see him stopped? Do you wish to see him toppled? Do you wish to see that man's grand vision of a restored Eden… wiped away into nothingness as quickly as it was introduced to you?"

Bruce smiled. _I see... _"Naturally."

W looked content with that. "Alright, then. Then allow me the honor." And suddenly, many things happened at once. At one second, W was standing against the porthole, his arms crossed. In the next, he had sprinted forward so fast that he moved as a speeding blur. The straps binding Bruce to the table were removed, and nothing held him at bay anymore. Bruce threw himself forward, spinning away from the man who was now standing right next to the table.

"How did you do that?" Bruce was not a stranger to this kind of thing, naturally. Barry Allen, Flash of the League, could do that too… but this was different. It felt different…

W's expression was neutral at best. "Trust me, Woodrue is a pawn in a very long game of chess. The knights have been at work for so much longer."

"The knights?"

W nodded. "All you need to know is this: I am expected to deliver your body to their new base of operations within the next hour. We're off the coast of Fransisco. One of the Rilee establishments is where Woodrue is holed up, as you probably saw. There, a new laboratory is being established. However, he's abducting people by the tens from around the world. His experiments are… less than reputable at the moment. He's a distraction."

"A distraction for what, exactly?" Bruce demanded. "You're part of something else. You're part of something much bigger. I'm curious about that, too. It's in the best interest of us both to come to an understanding, don't you agree?"

"You'll know what you need to know, Bruce Wayne. However… I'll refer to you as the Batman, shall I? After all… that's who you are to me. Bruce Wayne's identity is in enough crsis already without me adding to the boiling pit."

"Woodrue will most likely share that secret with the world," Bruce noted. "It's safe to assume that Batman no longer can be."

W frowned. "Excuse me? A name changes… a man remains. A man changes… a name remains. If you look at them as separate, they will be, don't you think?"

"Is W a man… or a name?"

"As I said… how can there be a difference? A name is a man. A man is a name."

"My home will be in danger. Eventually, Woodrue will share both of my names. What happens then?"

"You're Bruce Wayne. You're one of the most influential men on the planet. One of the wealthiest, too. I suggest you use these traits to your advantage, Mr. Wayne."

"Then tell me what happens."

"All you will know, all you will be told is this: I have an interest in Woodrue's capture… but not his death. Your moral code assures the same. Therefore, the both of us have the same goal: capture, not kill."

"You want to capture Woodrue? Are you CIA? FBI?"

W smiled now. It was such a foreboding sight, too. "I'm with the CIA, sure…" He chuckled a little. Bruce knew that the man was lying. "KGB, too. FBI. Unicef. American Red Cross… take your pick."

"If I capture Woodrue," Bruce assured the man, "I take him back to Gotham and make him face justice for what he did there." His eyes bored into the crimson horrors of W, daring the man to challenge him. W did just that.

"I have an interest in Woodrue from the higher order. He is essential. Trust me… he will pay for his crimes, but through our means, our ways, not that of the corrupt, ineffective Gotham City Police Department."

"You can't take the law into your own hands," Bruce shot back.

W was looking bored now. "Cloth yourself, now." He pointed at a cabinet next to the table. "I've shut off the hologram conduit and the security cameras in this room, but if they stay off for too long, Woodrue will begin to suspect that something is up. You need to leave this submarine quickly. I can't have Woodrue terminating my contract with him just yet. My organization has an interest in his private affairs."

"You're a mole with an organization that would steal from him, perhaps?" Bruce asked W as he rifled through the cabinet. Inside, he found an old relic indeed. The diving suit was bulky, clumsily painted brown with white splotch stains, and the fiberglass helmet was dirty. This suit had not been used in years. "I thought my armor would be in here…"

"No, I destroyed your armor."

Bruce looked around, angered. "_What_?"

"Your defenses fell quickly enough, I assure you, so you could say you deserved it. The electro-output system in the chest-plate was drained by a device of mine called the NHZ-9 in a matter of ten seconds. Shortly after that, the suits main power supply was cut, and we were able to incinerate it without the flash-bomb grazers went off. Your suit's defense system was laughable at best…"

"If you wanted me to get out of here, why destroy the suit?"

"Because Woodrue followed us onboard. He wanted to make sure you were bound and secure before the submarine took off. He decided to watch the suit's destruction process to ensure that your armor was of no use to you anymore. I had to obey his order. After all… I'm a loyal employee who never questions his genius boss…" He laughed darkly again. "It's been interesting, showing Woodrue my deepest affections through my work. He's never had a mind quite like mine in his employment. I've advanced his botanical research by several years… it's a shame that research, and me, will be leaving his grasp very, very soon."

"You've used him to advance your research?" Bruce now turned to face W completely. "What are you planning? Who do you work for? A research organization?"

W's smile faltered. "People you don't want to make wait…"

Frowning and truly unsatisfied with the answer, Bruce had no choice but to begin suiting up. Without his suit, he had no way of making any recordings or photographic Intel on this man… and that was probably the _true_ reason for the suit's destruction.

The diving suit was very uncomfortable and felt hot inside, grazing his skin with its tender fibers. The helmet… it was better. It smelled as if someone had died inside of it.

"So what exactly are you wanting me to do?" Bruce asked W, glaring from the other side of the fiberglass helmet, his voice muffled horribly. W stepped forward, and held out his hand. In it was a small, quarter sized device, circular shaped with what seemed to be an ear bud attachment.

"Take this with you. I want to stay in radio contact with you at all times."

Bruce held the transceiver up and examined it. It looked clean and fresh from a box.

"You should know I'm not in the habit of putting things in my ears given to me by strangers…"

"I implore you to wear it. I implore you to take advantage of it."

"It's a transceiver? _Just _a transceiver, huh?"

W nodded. "Connected directly to Woodrue's closest trustee."

"You."

"Me. I can help you from within. I have to study Woodrue from the right side of the fence, as per the orders from my…company. But I can ensure that when you move in, he'll be taken out easily enough."

"And how would we do this? I don't know what organization you work for. And until I do-"

"You have to leave this submarine, now," W cut across him. "I'm going to set it off. Buy you some time."

"Set it off?"

"Yes. Trust me, everything is already in motion. The closing details, then: You are dead. Officially, you are dead. Bruce Wayne is dead. His body will be found floating near the Fransisco bay-line. It will be recovered by the appropriate scavengers and a broadcast will be directed. The news will be international. Woodrue will have no reason to believe you ever survived. He'll feel safe enough to move around in the open. He'll expose his frailties. The data I need will be recovered quickly and quietly. Afterwards, I'll let you take him down… but then you'll give him to me. Is this understood?"

"This is insane. Bruce Wayne's death would be investigated by the world's top agencies. There was be pandemonium on the market. Woodrue wouldn't feel safe, stepping out into that."

"I think he will, actually." W smiled. "You see, he's a shareholder of Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce froze. His heart leapt. _What_!?

"Say again?"

"A shareholder of Wayne Enterprises. And not under his name, either. That would be Malachi Stevens. 'Stevens' is Woodrue's representative to the outside, his bridge between two worlds over Woodrue's head. With the announcement of your death, the board will move to elect a chairman. Stevens will move in, and place his bid. Woodrue will be keeping his eye on the market, and he'll eventually wipe away his droppings, so to speak…"

"And just how would he do that?"

"Simple. He'll ask me to do it, and I'll have no choice but to obey."

"How could you erase police evidence, exactly?"

"Again, it's simple. I have connections. The police department is no stranger field to me. I already have an inside man placed in the right position. Woodrue knows how strong my connections are. My success is at a 100 percent rating."

"And you expect me to just stand by and allow this?" Bruce stepped forward and his arm shot up, powered by years of inclination. W, however, once more astonished the former and, with impossible speed, caught Bruce's arm in its journey. W twisted the arm, and pain shot through Bruce at once. In the next moment, he was flying across the room, and he slammed against the wall. Within a second, W had sped like lightning towards him, and held him firmly against the wall.

"Now," W breathed, whispering in Bruce's ear. "Now, now, now… here's what will happen. You will follow my lead. You will move in on Woodrue when I say to move in on him. And Bruce Wayne will remain dead until I say otherwise. You will stay in contact with me via the transceiver, and you will stay out of Gotham. Do you understand me?" His voice lowered to a deathly growl. "_You-will-stay-away-from-Gotham_."

Bruce struggled against his hold, but could find no strength against this impossible…superhuman?

"Who-are-you?" he managed to struggled. The force of the man's hold was agonous against his ribs.

W began to check the filtration system on Bruce's air tank, and nodded in satisfaction. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a pair of simple black sunshades, and covered his glowing eyes with them.

"Your best friend…or your worst nightmare."

He dropped Bruce to the floor, and turned away from him, proceeding towards the exit. "Follow me."

Bruce, struggling for breath and grasping his chest, pulled himself to his feet and followed after W, his heart hammering hard. The tunnel down the way was dark and narrow, and W led him right to the end of the hall, where a port door awaited them. A little red light above it indicated an insecure alignment of the locking mechanisms.

"Do I escape here?" Bruce inquired, after ensuring that the device W had given him was implanted into the ear and his helmet secured.

W responded by holding up a small black transceiver himself, and speaking into it. His voice spoke directly from Bruce's left ear: "Naturally."

And W thrust his fist into the door. It fell away at his powerful strike, and water flooded into the submarine at once. As this all happened, W held up another device, this one a small, rectangular remote, a pressed a button on it. Even as the waters swept Bruce into the wide Pacific, the transceiver in his ear gave feedback to the rushing waters and the electronic voice built into the sub's interior systems: "_Systems corrupted and overheating in the main engine room. Deformation is inevitable." _

Deformation…

The wide open ocean before him teemed with chaotic life. When Bruce managed to balance himself out from the rushing waters, he turned in the water and saw the submarine flashing its energetic crimson lights. The sound waves were deafening beneath this water's surface, and breathing in this compressed space was difficult.

"Swim…" The voice inside of his ear had returned. "Now."

"Where are you!?" Bruce demanded.

"Swim," W repeated, and the line went dead.

Bruce sighed. He swum.

Minutes later, the submarine vanished in its inevitable deformation…

"Deformation of the old cultural myths, that being that the old snake, Berlow, cast aside his need for knowledge and power, highlighted a rise to the modern writings of Chancellor Vancouver and Richard Vict. Both of them were highly inspired by the Golden Age of Uncellorism, as it was named in the times of-"

Octus Mischo's voice faded into silence in Pamela's head. She was not taking notes anyway. Her paper was filled in _doodles_. She would forever regret letting her American Literature obligation expand out for as long as it had. Therefore, Literature was merely her art class. On the page, flowers dotted the lines and margins, each one a different color of the world spectrum. She scribbled away excitedly, dotting thorns and scratching in vines. Vines were special, as were the thorns. Both were needed for an effective flower to flourish in Nature. She believed this so that her arms were fully decorated in marker-based vines, drawn elaborately across her skin in shining green. As for the thorns, she had found some exciting spiked bracelets at the Gotham Excellaorium, the base black, the spikes red. Slowly but surely, she was discovering the look for a new identity. With a new name, with a new meaning, there had to be a new look. Outlook, inlook, look, look, look…

Arting her only true presence in the room, she was hardly giving regards to the stares and glances. It had been a week since Porda-Bay. The missing police officer on campus and student to match had been a topic of greatest gossip on school grounds. One very liked student and one very disliked officer… the balance was talk-worthy even for the less practices of gossip and rumor-fucking, as Pamela liked to call it. However, no rumors were directed at her. No, they stared at her for another reason entirely.

Every morning, Pamela would douse herself in the Garde'. This was the name that she had adopted for the pheromone spray. It was, admittedly, most likely gibberish (she had read something about the word being an obsolete form of "guard"), but to her, the name was "cool" and "out there" and "shut up, Alissa, like you could think of better…" The Garde' was subtle in its rapture of human souls about Gotham University. Men and women alike would pick up on its silent whispers of passion and longing, and their eyes would eventually lock onto the source. The majestic redhead in the tight green tanktop and dark, tight, short shorts, whose arms were adorned in green marker vines, whose wrists bore spiked gauntlets… that strange, attractive wonder of a woman, whose scent was perfection and whose body was needed for ocular harvest.

Now, she was the center of the world for entirely better reasons than ever before. Their eyes worshipped her. They undressed her and fucked her with irises, and salivated with pupils. And all of this she recorded in her little green notebook, noting each person's reaction and sometimes recording the lengths of such unasked for sessions. When they came to speak with her, she regarded them with silence and ignorance, breathing their hearts with silent rejection. But she stayed her sword hand.

It had not been only a week since Porda-Bay, but also a week since her last murder. The waitress, Beverly, had been the last killing ( a bitter though, Pamela strangely found). She had slaughtered Beverly to prove a point to Alissa: that when she was asked to do something, she must do it. Alissa's response had been predictable enough: utter silence… and utter shock. Alissa was a weak, stupid little fragile git with no stomach for the real world that was descending upon them. She hated Alissa… and yet Alissa was the friend who had tried to stand beside her, and who even now protected her from imprisonment, and worse. Thus, Alissa would be blessed in time with a true inauguration into discipleship. It would just have to take time.

In preparation for this coming time, Pamela had, of course, been taking the needed steps towards the mental and spiritual transformation that would come. She and Alissa spent most days together, a tight bunch with tighter secrets. They ate out every night. Between the money taken off of Kevin, Patterson, Beverly and the Porda-Bay diner register (before Pamela had burned it, and Beverly's body, to the ground), the two of them were finally in appropriate positions of _thriving_ in a merciless world. They could eat out every night because Mother Earth had given them their rewards for obedience, as Pamela was slowly explaining to a quiet Alissa. And Alissa enjoyed herself well on the expensive shopping trips, movie theater excursions and restaurants of the finest steak and healthiest clam-cakes. The façade was evident… the illusion compatible with Pamela's genuine outlook.

And so, when Pamela met with Dr. Stefan after weeks of skipping out on his sessions, she strode into his office with a sense of pride in her movement and confidence in her smile. The receptionist, Tweeley, looked less than impressed with this legendary troublemaker, but Pamela merely blew him a kiss with a pretty birdie and awed her way to her doctor.

"Pamela… where have you been?" was Stefan's first, and certainly predictable, question. Pamela, smiling, kicked off her black ballet flats and rested her green stocking clad feet across the man's coffee table. He frowned, but said nothing about this as she threw her arms back behind her head and answered, "Living."

"Living. I admire that. Living is an admirable goal, a fine quest indeed. I live every day to help people in need, people who have seen the worst and at times been the worst. I admit I've missed you."

"I'd miss me too," Pamela agreed, gazing dreamily at the ceiling. It had recently been painted like the solar system, and amassed a barrage of colored planets, stars and nebulas. Earth, of course, was the most beautiful planet of all. So much _green_. "I'd miss me so much, Stefan, you've no idea."

"I've wanted to see how you were doing," Stefan said quietly, sipping from his mug of coffee. "Ever since you told me what happened, and how you reacted to it, I've been really concerned about-"

"Have you ever noticed," Pamela cut across him, "that when you look at the _Earth_, it really does have more green than blue?"

"I- well, actually, there's more blue than-"

"Well, actually," Pamela cut across him again, "the oceans, the seas… think of all that turquoise. Turquoise needs green to exist, Stefan. Green is always an essential part of life, to give things its color and keep it recognized."

Stefan wiped his head of its flowing sweat. He managed a small smile. "You got me. You have a very unique sense of sight, Pamela."

"Ivy."

"I beg pardon?"

Pamela gave him a glower. "Call me by my name. My name is Ivy."

"I-Ivy?" Stefan tilted his head. "You're thinking about changing your name?"

"I _have_ changed my name… or rather, I started using my name at last." She gazed up at the ceiling again, and beheld her arms so that he could see the marker. "I am Ivy. I am Venus. I _am_ Ivy… call me Ivy, Stefan… I don't want to be called Pamela anymore… that name is dead."

"Pam-"

"Ivy!"

Stefan swallowed. "Ivy… Ivy, your original name was beautiful. I like the name Pamela. It's very flower-like. You know there's a flower in South African called the-"

"_Pameleon dyberflap_. Yes, I do, Stefan. A herbal flower, has green petals and red star-like spots within… Call me Ivy. And don't ever call me Pamela again."

"A-alright…Ivy. I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"Indeed… so, Ivy… I need to know how you've gotten along."

"I'm fine," Pamela said, grinning. "Stefan, I've never been happier in my entire life." She hugged herself joyfully. "I'm in love."

Stefan beamed, looking happy for her. "Indeed? Tell me, quickly!"

"Oh, she's so beautiful. I've never met anyone else like her."

"Um-hm…" Stefan was taking notes. "You have a girlfriend?"

"I'd call her…soul-mate. She is the breath in the morning, and the white sand that gives the crashing shore meaning. She has no flaws. She is perfection in every way…"

Stefan had stopped writing, and was looking intently at Pamela. "Very poetic."

"I must be, when referring to the goddess…"

"The…goddess? Is that your name for her, or is her legal name 'Goddess'?"

"I'm referring to myself, dipshit." Pamela's grin faded at once and she straightened up, shaking her head. "Seriously, you've jello for brains."

Stefan blushed fiercely. "I'm sorry, I-"

"I've learned to appreciate myself, Stefan. I've grown. I've evolved. I see myself as the superior being that I am, and I am not afraid of what life has to throw in my face anymore. I have come to learn the meaning of salvation. I have found it through my love of nature, Stefan. I have put the bad behind me… because the solution was always sitting right there in front of me."

"The solution?"

"Yes. The solution to all of my problems."

"And what is that, Ivy?"

Pamela grinned. "Knowing that deep down… I won. I woke up. I kept on going to school. I made great grades. I made new friends. And I learned to stand up to my enemies. I show them no submission. I feel stronger than ever before."

"That's wonderful, Pamela…"

"So I don't think I need to come back to see you anymore."

"Well…" Stefan bit his lip uncomfortably. "Pam- I mean Ivy… that's something that has to be decided by the board. And I still feel like we should meet for a while longer. What you've been through has long lasting impacts on the smallest of things. It's my job, my obligation, to see you completely through it."

"Don't you see, though!? All of the sessions, all of the mind games… they were wasted. Wasted because I could never see myself for myself, wasted because I was always afraid of the little redheaded freak who everyone called crazy. But I know better now. I know better than anyone. I'm not crazy. I'm not a freak. I'm…perfect." She sat back against the couch and exhaled deeply. "I appreciate what you want to do, Stefan, but…" She pressed down hard on her leg. The pheromones from the hidden canister under her shorts sent out the pressurized jet. "…I just…don't want to come back anymore. Would you…free me?" She stroked her leg slowly, her lips parted.

His clipboard fell from his hands. She stood up, and gently walked over to him, sitting within his lap and holding him close against her, letting him take in a strong dose of the Garde'.

"I…yes…oh, yes…"

"Oh, yes?" she whispered, and she kissed him. He tasted nice enough, pepperminty and clean. "Yes?" Another, longer kiss.

_Yes… say yes… you know you can't not say it…_

"Yes…" Stefan moaned, his eyes wide and dazed. Pamela grinned, and kissed him a third time, going all out in ravenous assurance of her control over his mind. The pheromones pumped out… the articles of clothing became obsolete for the moment. Because when she had control, she could make them do anything. And she had her ways to assure victory…

_This is getting too easy…._


	13. Chapter 13

The more control she gained, the more she realized the beauty that had been administered by some secret force of will and determination, most definitely manifested as a physical goddess. But it was a goddess only Pamela could see and feel. By now, the search for Officer Patterson and Kevin had been pushed aside for a more pressing matter: the theft of countless chemicals from the biological storage containments on campus. Officials were questioning professors and janitorial staff alike due to the nature of what they knew to be theft: no broken windows or doors forced open. Whoever was stealing the components was an insider, someone who had a key, because they were very neat and never triggered the silent alarms.

Pamela had never been happier. The control over her "androids", as she liked to call those ensnared by the pheromones, was powerful and caused severe mental deficiencies: mostly, memory loss and brain damage. She had long ago registered that the pheromones themselves were a weak cloud of poisonous spores: not poisonous enough to kill, at least, not in the dosages she administered, but strong enough to cause neural stress. She'd kept one, to see for herself the effects of long-term exposure: she and Alissa had rented out cabins on Lake Gellawae one weekend in February, and along with them had come William Pidell, freshman biology major and resident paintball expert (more often than not, their battles would take them close to Pamela's apartment). His punishment for decking her window (intentionally) with red paint had been most severe: a weekend as her test subject. She kept him insolated in a closet, dedicating herself to administering dosages at half-pints every thirty minutes for ten hours straight. By the end of the ten hours, Pidell had gone mad, clawing at the wood of the closet and audibly howling his head off, screaming about something within, eating his brain and running through his body with "feelers, lots of feelers…"

His manic behavior did not cease, and Pamela was forced to abandon him, letting him run loose in the woods without a scrap of clothing, sending him howling in his agony into the darkness. He had not been seen for three months. He had never returned or shown up on the druggie arrest reports. He had just…vanished. Most likely he was dead, she figured, out there in the woods. Maybe he had drowned in the lake, or been attacked by a bear or bobcat. Whatever the case, her experiment on him had driven him insane… and she had enjoyed every second of it.

Because of Pidell, she now knew the extent of her power, and had thus set herself down the scientist's road to immortality. The homeless and the destitute were many in Gotham City, and were more than eager to accept the presence of this beautiful, perfect redheaded woman who brought them such elation and lust with the very air she breathed… she would gather them by bundles, as she would refer to the mass groupings, fours and fives in beautiful combinations of heroin abuse and methamphetamine junkies clawing at the ground, begging for a sweet taste of the pleasures she promised them so highly… They would be taken to a special place once they were rounded up: Sionis Steelworks in the Industrial District. There, after closing hours, in the dark of the night and the solitude of early morning, Pamela learned the truth about herself: she had been correct about her position as a bounty hunter in the name of Mother Earth.

There, in the Steelworks, she was able to kill many, many birdies with many pretty stones. Namely, she would run a series of tests, having the drugged abusers performing all manner of activities, from trivial jumping jacks to wrestling each other over the promise of sex. What she gathered was this: under the influence of the pheromones, they dared not disobey any command given to them. When she told them to jump, they jumped (even a crippled veteran, who broke his ankle upon doing so). When she told them to run, they ran. The pheromones did not put them under her total control, for that was impossible: rather, they put them under her "spell", as she called, opening up the mental shafts of lust and desire and magnifying the biological constructs as such, making them completely vulnerable to suggestion as long as there was a reward that they could interpret, namely sex and other such pleasures (after all, her beauty was all too evident to those even without the pheromones encouraging them, and she all too quickly learned to use this as a weapon).

So, when she said, "Alright, that's enough… now, just one other thing: as your final test of love for me… jump into that pit there. Jump into that pit, and afterwards, you crawl out and you come for me…come for me and take me…" you could bet your ass they were going to obey, and so they did, casting themselves into the fires of the steelworks… into the molten, incinerating flames of house-sized boilers, burning to ashes and leaving no trace of their existence. Gotham City cared not for the junkie waste of the reviled drug wars on the streets. The city would not miss them… why should it know they were ever around?

Pamela realized all too soon that she had been given a gift: to destroy the human race and create for it a new utopia, one that would restore Eden and give her the chance to allow for this planet…a new start. Of course, this was the long-term goal, a desire and a necessity that would only be realized after years and years of hard work. Her hatred for humanity grew deeper and deeper by the day, and she became quite disgusted with herself that she, too, was a human. As such, she reviled herself, no longer holding on to that old, beautiful doctrine of self-perfection: as this was adequate, too, because she could not bear to lie to the Mother. Pamela swiftly realized that one day, one glorious day, she would have to find a way to escape her human form and transcend… but just how in the hell that would ever be possible, she had not a clue.

Thus, for now, she began her genocide of the human race with junkies off of the street: they were the easier prey. By the end of the second month since the mysterious disappearance of Officer Patterson and Kevin, Pamela, unable to hold herself back, had been killing every week. Most of the time, it was junkies and homeless vagabonds who came into town temporarily via the trains. There were always one or two. On average, she exterminated three to four a week, nearing forty victims by the coming of April.

And with each kill came more happiness that she had finally discovered her place beneath the Mother.

But Alissa… Alissa had been an issue. She had promised to help Pamela remove Otto Rock and his bitches… but she talked seldom to Pamela as each day passed, sometimes avoiding her for days at a time, isolating herself in her room, studying hard to avoid conversing with the outside world. When Pamela did run across her, she was pale, sickly and shaky. When Pamela would speak to her, she spoke in quick, nervous mumbles and rarely stayed long enough for anything that could be called a genuine conversation. Which was a shame, too, because Pamela genuinely liked Alissa: she had been there for her since the start, and she wanted Alissa to share in the glory of Mother Earth's vibrant future: Pamela had no doubt that Mother Earth would allow Pamela to "choose" humans who would transcend with her, and she wanted Alissa to be the first to do so alongside herself. She wanted Alissa as a partner: as a co-exterminator. With Alissa's blonde beauty and athletic energy, she could double the extermination periods, and the human race could step one minute closer and closer to its ultimate annihilation. As such, Alissa could not see this grand plan in all of its extremities, and thus a compulsion haunted Pamela on Alissa's behalf: that Alissa, in her dire fear and anxiety, would finally collapse and betray Pamela.

And that could not happen.

So it was that after Pamela had taken her fiftieth victim into the flames of Sionis fires, and neared the start of May, she came to visit Alissa in her apartment. At Pamela's own home, her lab awaited, bubbling new vats of the pheromones by the day, along with more creative ventures… No such interesting array awaited at Alissa's. Alissa did not comprehend the imaginative forces that compelled one to create life, as well as take it away. Pamela knew a thing or two about creating life… and soon Alissa would see that…

"Knock, knock," said the door, but Pamela only heard, "Heh heh…" Sometimes wood jokes, sometimes wood sings, sometime it predicts terrible, terrible fucking things…

Alissa opened the door, and her expression turned tense at once. Pamela smiled softy, wiggling her fingers in hello.

"Hi, there," she said provocatively, placing her sandal-clad foot upon Alissa's bare one. She began to play with the latter's golden hair casually. "Fancy a walk?"

Alissa pulled her foot away quickly and backed away a few inches. "No," she said quietly, looking at the floor. "I'm studying. Big test, you know…"

"I think you should get some air…" Pamela reached into her pocket and pulled out her perfume bottle. Alissa's eyes snapped onto it at once, and she paled considerably. She made a move to close the door, but Pamela caught it fiercely with one hand and raised the bottle to Alissa's face. Alissa's expression was terrified. Then, it was joyful. Pamela gave her no time to say anything antagonistic. The pheromones crippled Alissa at once and the blonde woman was suddenly quite enthralled with Pamela. Her eyes glazed over, and she began to eyeball Pamela's body with a ravenous hunger: exactly as Pamela had intended. "Fancy a walk." It was not a request, but a command. No question marks needed here.

"Oh, God, yeah…" Alissa gasped, reaching out for Pamela, who sidestepped her and locked the door of Alissa's apartment behind her. They walked arm in arm, strolling down the concrete lane in the direction of the gardens. Pamela's new apartment had been secured only a month before… the Dean had been _most _adamant about giving her new, fine accommodations… one could only wonder why… Now, every morning when she awoke, the sunshine would allow her eye-opening bask to present the botanical garden directly. It was almost the first thing she would see upon awakening. The apartment was also beautifully isolated on the grounds, hidden in a little grove near the biology compound. Usually, only teachers could ever afford such housing, and those students who had the money to do so would find better places to live. Pamela, however, found the secluded little house her personal shield from the rest of the humans.

"Such a beautiful day," Pamela commented quietly, brushing her hands along a brick wall that was covered in New England ivy. Alissa smiled sheepishly, blushing.

"Yeah…" she agreed, her head slightly swaying. Pamela, intent on keeping the spell alive, learned forward and kissed Alissa gently on the lips. Alissa gasped audibly, and moved in for more, but Pamela held her head back, revolted. It was disgusting, doing that… but it would only be for a little while longer.

"I've missed hanging out with you, Alissa. We don't see each other hardly, not anymore. I've been thinking about so many things. Otto. Archibald. Donovan. What about you? What have you been thinking about?"

"Flower… you're so beautiful," Alissa gasped, sniffing the air around Pamela. Such an exotic perfume… such a powerful, hypnotic perfume… Pamela smiled.

"Yeah, me too. All the time, I'd have to say, for the most part…" _I'm alone in the world. I'm completely…utterly…alone…_

"Going to your place?" Alissa breathed, clawing at Pamela's shirt and bouncing up and down. "Going to your place for privacy?"

Pamela chuckled. "I know, right! He said the same thing to me, and I was like, 'No fucking way, you douchebag, get your own soda…' But I guess…. I guess in the end, he, well, he kind of was cute so I decided to give it to him anyway…" _Me…and the plants… me and the plants, and these pheromones… all I have are the pheromones. Doorways to friends. Doorways to conversation. I am utterly alone… _

"I'm so glad to be near you, Pamela… I'm so glad…"

"And then this morning," Pamela whispered, her expression blank, "a cat snuck into the house and I nearly had a heart attack when it leapt on my chest. I was still trying to wake up… I really don't like cats-"

"You know what I want to do to you?"

"-they get fleas everywhere-"

"I want to take you close to me, onto some soft surface, Pamela… you know what I want to do?"

"-and they smell bad. They shit on the bed, and they… they just deserve to die…"

""Pamela… Pamela, I love you…"

_So utterly alone, aren't you? Aren't you, Ivy? Aren't you all alone? All alone? All alone. Not a question. A fact. All alone. Always alone. Is that why you kill people? You're a mass murderer, Pamela. A true serial killer. Not quite as up there in body count as the Joker, but…give it a few years… _

"Every time I see a cat, I just wanna strangle it," Pamela whispered, wiping away her tears. "I think I will, next time I see one. Even if it's just minding its own business, you know… I'll snatch it up and break its neck…"

They had reached her apartment, and Pamela quickly shushed Alissa up as she whisked her away into the house. The apartment she had left dim, save for burning UV lamps situated across the house in tangles of positional awkwardness. The interior of the home was turning into a jungle. Hundreds of clumps of ivy, flowering pods and shrubberies were hanging from the ceiling and settled upon the kitchen bar and window sills. Green was everywhere, abundantly taking over the house, entwining furniture and lights. The house was steamy, and smelled heavily of the strong, lust-worthy perfume. The strong fumes of pheromones were ascending from the open basement door. Down there, smell was a fine word for many fine examples…

Morning glory brushed their heads as Pamela led Alissa into the dark living room, escorting her confidently in the direction of the basement.

"Alissa…" A few moments passed as the two of them stood at the top of the basement stairs, both staring at each other through the dim, both containing their own form of excitement. "How are you feeling right now, Alissa? How are you physically feeling?"

"Hot," Alissa breathed, squeezing Pamela's hand hard. "Hot and energized."

"How about sickly? Do you feel sickly?"

"Oh, no, not sickly… I feel alive and prepared… oh so prepared…you're so beautiful, Pamela… you're so beautiful…"

"I thought I told you what you are to refer to me as, Alissa."

"Ivy. I'm s-so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you! Please forgive me!" Alissa fell to her knees as Pamela's feet. Pamela was enthralled. "Please forgive me Ivy! Forgive me…"

Pamela pondered for a moment. This, after all, _was_ an experiment. She finally decided to respond with a "No…"

"Oh, God!" Alissa wept, tears filling her eye at once as her face constricted. She looked utterly mortified, and distraught beyond repair. "Oh, God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry! I didn't mean to!" she bawled, gripping tightly Pamela's shins and shaking hard. "You mean everything to me…"

"You've…disappointed me." Pamela grinned as she said it. Her hypothesis had been correct. The next stage of the receiver disposition experiment was in effect now: rejection. The junkies… all of the junkies… they had proven their worth to her during the testing trials for the receiver disposition acceptance stage, but Alissa was the first in the rejection like. Negative reinforcement seemed to have severe consequences on the mental state of the entranced. This is why Pamela preferred the isolation for this experiment: no matter the severity of the reaction, this place was a haven away from prying ears. Pamela had already accepted a basic fact: anyone who ever showed signs of suspicion concerning any of her unusual behaviors… they would have to be removed. She was more than prepared to kill again, and again, and again, as long as it took to remain safe. There were far darker dangers in Gotham City than the police. There were those who pranced about above, in the dark of the night, whisking people like her away…

"GivemeanotherchancepleaseI'msorryI'lldobetter!" Alissa was madly jumbling a bamboozlement of babbling bablongaties in her insistence to gain acceptance once more by her governor. Pamela was quiet as she watched the woman stew… and decided to take the experiment into the risk setting.

"I do not know you, Alissa… I do not love you…" Her voice was cold and cruel, but her heart was warm and joyful. "I think you should kill yourself."

"NO!" Alissa sobbed hysterically, gripping the sides of her head frantically as her eyes bulged. "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"

"You should be," Pamela retorted. "Now, do me a favor, and go drown yourself in the sink. Now." She gestured at the kitchen sink. It was still filled with water from earlier when she had been filling restock restoratives for the children that grew along the walls… Alissa looked at the sink, choking loudly as she bit back her tears, and Pamela placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Go. Drown. Yourself. Now."

Alissa quivered, whimpering loudly as she stared at the sink, rooted to the spot for the longest moment…before she stepped forward, her head hung low, towards her fate…

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" she kept mumbling to herself, as she placed both hands upon the counter top and dipped her head into the filled sink of cold water…

And almost immediately, a few seconds into her attempted suicide, she wrenched her head backwards, gasping loudly and nearly falling over in shock. She held herself against the counter, dimly supporting her weight, and looked around fearfully. Pamela was scribbling notes into a red notepad.

"WHAT THE FUCK, PAMELA!?" It was as if Alissa were awakening in trueness of realization. Her face was savage, her blonde hair hanging in wet clumps around her dace. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"

"Call me Ivy…"

"NO, YOU ANSWER ME NOW! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"

Pamela finished jotting down her notes and tossed the little book aside, focusing her attention back on Alissa. "I almost made you commit suicide… but I knew the water would snap you right out of it. Cold water, in a mass amount like that, directly applied to the nostrils… the spores would die off quickly. They're not water resilient."

"_You drugged me!?" _Alissa's teeth were fangs, and they were gritted.

"Correction: I enraptured you. You were my slave. My most devout worshipper." She blew Alissa a kiss. "You recognized me as the goddess… you recognized me as the divine…"

"You…you can't do that! You can't do that!" Alissa stormed forward, and Pamela followed suit, holding up the perfume bottle at once. But Alissa moved fast this time, twisting her body with a fierce hiss as she slapped the bottle from Pamela's grasp, who did not expect such suddenness from her slave. Pamela made to grab for Alissa's hair, but Alissa jerked herself backwards, raised one fist into the air, and promptly sunk it into Pamela's face.

The impact of punch sent Pamela screaming as she spun in place, crashing into the dining table and collapsing onto the floor, along with several of her potted plants. Dirt and ivy rained down upon her as she sported a bloodied nose. Alissa, meanwhile, stepped forward, and as she did, she grabbed something from the bar: Pamela had left out a kitchen knife.

The knife was set against her throat at once, and Alissa held her down, their eyes locked in intense fire.

"Now listen to me, _Pamela_," Alissa hissed, her eyes dark and deadly as the knife she held, "I'd like to cut your throat. I could cut your throat right now. Right _fucking_ now. All of those you've taken, the missing druggies, the officer and Kevin… I could expose all of that right now!"

_And she will, if you don't handle the situation immediately…_

"You come to my home and you drug me! You come to my home and you make me your slave! You make me stick my head in water, with the idea of drowning me! You've _really_ screwed up this time, you freak! You murderous freak!"

Every word was like a knife to Pamela's heart, and all of the sudden, her newfound confidence that had given her so much power and promise began to collapse upon her. She felt her world break away: felt herself on that lonely island of dark and cold isolation, and all around her, the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Isley, Otto Rock, Archibald Helan, Donovan Ventimago, Officer Patterson and so many more began to swim around her, taunting her, calling her a freak and other vile names.

"-degenerate-"

"-whore-"

"-psychopath-"

_"FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! _

_FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!"_

"And you expect me to help you!? YOU EXPECT ME TO GIVE YOU JUSTICE!?" Alissa banged her fist down upon the floor next to Pamela's head. "You are nothing! You're a freak who can't even make friends unless they're drugged to do your every fucking bidding! You're alone, Pamela! Completely alone! If you didn't have those pheromones, you would have NO ONE, because no one would ever want to spend a minute with you! Not half a minute, not ten seconds! You are _nothing_!"

She banged her fist against the floor again, making Pamela wince, breaking her out of her mental catatonic state.

"And these fucking plants? These green pieces of shit don't make you a goddess any more than those pheromones fucking do!"

_Now's the time. _

Pamela screamed like a banshee, and her hands flew upward, forcing against Alissa's temple. The suddenness of her movement and aggravation took Alissa by surprise, and this allowed Pamela to throw the woman off of her, even as the kitchen knife cut the skin on her throat. But even through the pain and blood that trickles down from the small wound, Pamela was no longer present to acknowledge it: a mighty demon she had become, a monster hungry for destruction. She had become feral, a wild agent of Mother Earth, and threw herself upon Alissa', fiercely beating her fists wildly against Alissa's chest, who tried to raise the knife again to attack… but Pamela's grabbed her wrist and twisted it with unknown strength. Alissa's cried out, dropping the knife onto the floor, and Pamela brushed it across the room, continuing to wail upon Alissa with a barrage of fierce fist drumming and wild saliva.

Alissa became incapacitated very quickly, so weak from Pamela's fierce barrage of onslaught that she simply lay there, taking the savage beating as Pamela relentlessly pummeled her face and chest. By the time Pamela had finished, Alissa was severely bruised, bloodied and unconscious…

But Pamela was not even close to being finished. Savagely hissing, she yanked Alissa by the arm and drug her victim down, down, down into the darkness of the basement, into the foul-smelling abyss and wretched hive for experimentation. The basement was illuminated by green lanterns, hundreds of little jade bulbs on strings, entwined by ivy. The floor was completely dirt, and in the center, a single, long table, covered in beakers and boiling receptors. Chemicals bubbled and wafted out foul fumes. The largest container bubbled some faint pink liquid, not unlike Pepto, but that which gave off a most alluring, inviting scent… Pamela ignored this table and instead drug Alissa towards a table at the back of the basement.

This table…was different. Far different. The table in the middle of the room crafted love, and desire… this table, however, crafted something fouler. With her arisen interest in hallucinogenic plant-life and stimulants had come as side-exploration as well: poisons. There were many poisonous plants in the world, some terrible fatal and others slow-acting with lesser effects, but no matter the potency, she had always been fascinated by these particular plants: Oleander and hemlock, monkshood and nightshade tyberius… Their effects were beautiful within themselves: passionate killers who use their beauty, who induce a lust of their own, and claim life itself with their own biology. Even from an early age, Pamela had always loved the poisonous plants over the "safe" ones, much how young children prefer dinosaurs over puppies any day. There was sisterhood in the bitterness of them: foul, yet adored, much like herself.

The table was littered in monkshood and nightshade tyberius, and cuttings of hemlock. Extracts were preserved in little bowels. Three beakers contained three differently colored liquids, lavender, turquoise and dark green… each poison its own right, its own presence. Not yet had she used these in her exterminations… but she was slowly building up the courage to test them out on the humans that Mother Earth implored her to remove. In particular, she was currently working on a very important side project, and as she dropped Alissa onto the floor with a hard _thud_, she leaned over the poisonous plants and picked up something from the tabletop: a tube of lipstick. The pigment was a faint yellow-green, almost transparent, but glossy in shining abundance. She balanced it in her hand and pressed it beneath her nose, taking in the foul scent of the poison hidden in this alluring décor.

Cuttings of hemlock and nightshade tyberius had created a dangerous hybrid, diluted slightly by extracts taken from manifold glitterus. The glitterus was a natural anesthetic. The result of these compilations had been a thing of beauty: a little number she had come to refer to as Nyrox, which she had named after the Nyroxius calastor, a rare flower from the shores of Baltic Sea in Poland. The flower, of course, had been extinct for nearly two hundred years now, but historical records of the flower's usage during the Peninsular War had been preserved in university library. '_In its time, the Nyroxius calastor, named for the man who discovered it, Adler Nyrox, was a highly poisonous flower found growing within the sea-side caves along the Baltic shorelines. Its potency has been confirmed by historical accounts that, during the Peninsular War, the Nyrox flowers were used to sabotage food supplies being transported to Napoleonic forces. Casualties from this silent assassination method were very high and caused a food scare…' _It was enough fascination for her to acknowledge the existence of the Nyrox flower at one time, and it had set her on a long term goal: to resurrect the Nyrox in the form of new plant-life, which she wanted to be personally responsible for. To that effect, she had studied gene splicing in her free time, reading about the complicated processes of mitosis and cellular degradation: but there would always be a way.

The lipstick she held in her hand was deadly enough. She could not touch the stuff with bare hands. The poison was very acidic to human skin. She knew. In addition to having a key into the biological compound, she also had managed to steal access to another special place within the biology building: Storage A-77, otherwise known as the Cadaver Room. These rooms were used by the upper classmen in biological studies: she was not there, yet, only being in her second year of university, but eventually her degree would allow her to experiment with those bodies for a grade… she intended to know all about corpses by then, in her own, personal way…

It was no secret on campus that a cadaver had been stolen, along with several experimental supplies. 'Who would steal a cadaver?' they would ask. 'Who would steal a dead body, what's the point?' Science was the answer. After all, junkies were unpredictable, and until she purchased for herself a proper home, with a proper, private yard, she could not be farming her fellow humans. Not yet. For these experimentations, the dead were needed… but soon, she intended to test these poisons upon the living. Research had been to be taken to all grounds. And she already knew the first victim… he would be her first… the first to be poisoned…

As of now, she could not put this lipstick to use. It was too dangerous for her. She was currently working on a lipguard gel, something to counteract the poison in the lipstick, acting as a barrier between her lips and it. It needed a few days more before she was brave enough to test it: she would be risking her life in order to see if this weapon could be used.

And if it could? Then, she would be able to make her long awaited dream come true. The death of Archibald Helan. As the youngest and most outgoing, he was never hard to track down, and often took long runs by the edge of the woods. The day was coming very, very soon for him…

She glanced down at Alissa. Alissa, her best friend and the agent who was meant to stand beside her and fight the rest of the world in the name of nature's uprising… Alissa, who had finally decided to betray her. 

It took around then minutes for Pamela to clear the pheromone components from the middle table, during which Alissa continually stirred and moaned. By the time Pamela had hoisted the woman on the table, Alissa was mumbling, "What? What did you say?" Nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense. Alissa's limbs were bound with thick rope, courtesy of the Gotham University Spiral Gym, and the infatuated janitorials who would have no memory of the woman who had come and seduced them, taking the keys from them and leaving them in a state of complete inebriation. They had, of course, been carted off to Arkham Asylum, howling madly, running about the gymnasium nude and sweating, quite mad… goodness, they all wondered just how they seemingly sane men had suddenly just…lost it…

_But those pheromones leave no trace. They dissipate, and become one with the air… but the damage is already done by then…_

When Alissa finally, finally regained consciousness again, she found herself completely bound to the table, and Pamela standing over her with a large grin.

"Comfortable?"

Alissa's eyes narrowed. "Let. Me. Go." Three words. Deadly voice, deadly promise. Pamela shook her head.

"No."

"Let me go…" Again. A soft whisper. A deadly promise.

Pamela grabbed her chin and kissed her cheek. "No," she whispered into her friend's awaiting ear. She pulled back, and prodded Alissa's nose gently.

"Why are you doing this?" Alissa asked, her voice shaking… but she was suddenly so calm. Pamela was not sure if it had something to do with the pheromones in the room. Were they calming her? Perhaps if she brought them closer and closer… but she wanted Alissa sane for this talk…for this session… for this rehabilitation…

"What do I want more than anything else in the entire world, Lissa?" Pamela asked her friend calmly, sitting in a chair next to the table and picking up something from her tool drawer: a little white syringe. Alissa saw the syringe, and paled considerably. Pamela decided to answer for her. "It is to be loved, Alissa. 'But how, Ivy?' you would ask me. 'How, Ivy, do you wish to be loved? How can you be loved?' The answer, Alissa: not through pheromone extracts from hallucinogenic plant-life. Through genuine admiration and recognition. That is the answer. I want there to come a time when the pheromones are no longer needed, when the desires and obsessions that our kind will rain down upon me are…genuine." She stepped over to the table of poisons, and began to fill the syringe with one particular essence: a baby-blue component from a little glass vial.

Alissa struggled against her bindings. "Just…just be yourself… just be yourself…" She was panting, her voice filled with dread. "Just…just do things that people will really love…"

"'And you'll make an impression, Pamela,'" Pamela mocked, imitating Dr. Stefan's voice. "Yeah, he said the same shit too. And do you know what? I _believed_ him." She walked back over to Alissa and sat down again, cradling Alissa's hair. "I believed him during my time at Coreman's and a little afterwards, thinking I could overcome reputation itself if I could only do something amazing in the eyes of others… how fucked up I was back then. No. Do you know who really showed me the truth? The way of the world? Do you know who truly showed me what I had to do, how I had to do it? It was Otto Rock. Otto Rock, Archie and Don… the three of them were-are-my gods. I worship them daily. They give me truth, and meaning. I know because of them. I see because of them. They showed me truth: that to gain love, that to gain worship, you must _take_ it. _Take_ it, Alissa. By force. By your own power. And then… and then eventually, they'll love you for real. Do you know how I know that?" She leaned in, and whispered gently in Alissa's ear, "Because I _love_ Otto, Archie and Don… I love them, Alissa. So. Very. Much."

She pulled back and relished in Alissa's expression of horror and disgust.

"So you see," Pamela insisted, "I'm not going to take them because I hate them. I'm going to take them… because I love them. So much." She placed a hand over her very swiftly beating heart. "And guess what, Alissa?" She placed her hand upon Alissa's stomach. "I love _you_, too…"

"Don't!" Alissa hissed through gritted teeth, eyes widening as the syringe lowered. "DON'T."

"Hush, now, Alissa… don't spoil this for me…"

"NO! NO! HELP! HEL-" But the syringe entered her head, then, and her scream for help merely became… a scream. The most terrible scream imaginable, a monstrous cry of agony and suffering. Pain is considerate, by an average range: we _see_ the levels of intensity and understand the lengths to which our bodies will suffer, and what proper biological functions will enact to repress the pain when the nervous system is attacked in such terrible ways… but there was no such blessing here. The poison that Pamela injected directly into the bottom of Alissa's right eyelid was a phenomenal suppressant, neutralizing the protective walls around the lower hemisphere on the right side. It was a creation of her utter pride, a poison that had been successful in form and purity: destroying the natural painkillers and sending static-like pulses directly through the cerebral cortex.

Alissa collapsed into exquisite, merciless agony, her veins on fire, her eyes burning and her skin paralyzed in sensory output. She was frozen in place, with no hope of restoring movement, and when she screamed, her pain increased by such small, small gestures… and yet she could not help but scream.

Pamela withdrew the syringe, emptied of its non-lethal, pitiless poison and tucked it into a trash can nearby. Alissa writhed in her torment, flooding tears through her terrible screams… and Pamela pulled out her notebook and began to jot down research points, noting the verbal and motor reactions and footnoting the various levels of pain intensity. Every time Alissa screamed, she jotted down how long the scream was maintained, the tear output levels and how much Alissa was able to move through the slight paralysis of the poison, which she, in that moment, decided to jot down a name for: **Nemesai. **Derived from the word "nemesis," she added the _sai_ part because, well, frankly, it sounded effing awesome.

"Sai," she pronounced calmly, and giggled. "Nemesai." She liked naming her poisons. She liked creating her poisons. Her poisons were her life now, as were her plants. As they had always been.

_Poison... _The word alone was an art form. It just sounded fun, and professional in whatever personified mannerisms she could acquaint with it.

After ten minutes of observing Alissa, Pamela found that everything was in order, and promptly switched off all lights, leaving Alissa screaming in the cold, merciless dark, Pamela locking the door to the basement behind her. The screaming continued for an hour, and then went silent. During that hour, Pamela walked about nude, tending to her children and whispering sweet, soft songs of love and care to them. She folded the laundry and drew sketches of flower people, drunk wine and casually drowned a few rats in the sink (she had around thirty of them stuffed in a large cage in the laundry room, all babies… all fodder for her experiments…

All the while, she thought about going on a date. She could have any man on campus, at any time… She casually went through the yearbook from the previous year, scouting out the men who physically appealed the most to her. Thomas Woolman had some fine, pale blue oculars… Stan McCormick was biology nerd and had the adorable, overlarge spectacles to match it… Dennis Terrance had the same shade of crimson hair as she did, and his skin was oily and pale, just the way she preferred it… So many decisions to make. Perhaps all… yes, all three, at the same time… She could have them take her to a fine, luxurious dinner, a boat ride on the Gotham River and then a trapeze through Gotham Funland. Yes, that sounded good. But first…

She went back downstairs, down to the silent, still Alissa, who was breathing shallowly, her eyes wide and bloodshot. She could only look up at Pamela in sheer terror, whose expression was blank.

"Had enough?" she asked her prey, feeling Alissa's heartbeat. So fast. So frantic-like. Alissa moaned loudly, and Pamela sighed.

"I think we'll go for another hour," Pamela told her. "Another hour and I'm sure you'll be ready for the next stage of transcending. You should consider yourself blessed," she said in a raised voice as Alissa began to whimper loudly, "that I have chosen to give you Ascension before me. Consider it my gift. After a few days down here… you'll be more loyal to our goals, I promise." She kissed Alissa on the forehead gently. "I love you…"

She left a few minutes later, locking the door once more and slightly drowning out Alissa's tormented screams after the next injection had been administered. Whether Alissa would survive the coming therapy, she knew not… but Pamela had better things to attend to. A night on the town, with three very sexy young man… She left Alissa screaming and waltzed out into the sunshine world.

Therapy was essential to the human spirit's recognition, she knew this now. Dr. Stefan's tormenting sessions had shown her the vulnerability of the human spirit in regards to discovering one's destiny: something self-made and sufficient. His torment had educated her. Molded her into Ivy, a woman who could, would, must, should, change the world. But she could not help but feel like something was missing from that name. Ivy, alone, was only half of her essence. The plants were one part… what was the other?

_You know what the other part is, Pamela_, that little voice would tell her. _You should learn to accept it._

But what did she know? What did her soul know that her heart did not?

_A part of your passion is a part of your Ascension. _

On the way to find her first lover for the evening, she passed by the botanical, so that he could visit more of her children through the glass… And that… that was when she first laid eyes upon _him_.

He was standing near the entry way to the greenhouse, and he was talking with another man, whom she recognized immediately as Dean Phillips (the previous Dean had…vanished one day… very, very strange…). Phillips had a serious expression as he spoke with the man, and she could not help but admire the fetching stranger. Tall and slender, and adorned in a fine, periwinkle business suit, he listened to the Dean with a fierce, intent expression. The man's skin was beautifully painted a lighter auburn, and she thought he must have some kind of Hispanic in him. Perhaps some Portuguese? His eyes were almost scarlet, an intense brown with flecks of light red, and his hair was walnut. A stylish beard and goatee wrapped around his mouth, and it twitched every now and then as the Dean whispered urgent things to him. He was a perfect man, and that expression… that expression was so fierce.

Pamela, despite herself, hovered about the entrance, examining petunias while carefully trying to catch word of their conversation.

"-no need to worry," the stranger said in a soft voice. He had an accent about him, almost…was it Russian? Some very distinct, subtle Russian. Russian and English… "I'm really fitting in comfortably already. I don't care about these incidents."

"Look, all I'm saying is that we've had a serial killer on the loose. Students and faculty going missing, or going insane… these cases aren't natural, and we've had a mixture of high profiles and low profiles. I'm obligated to give you fair warning. It's why Dr. Myrtle quit, after all."

Pamela's heart leapt. Dr. Myrtle quit? That stinky, wasted old prune who often forgot half of his lecture notes and got formulas wrong all the time during lessons? At last! She'd been planning on murdering him herself… but it seemed like her actions had scared the old bastard away. _Yes! _So, then, this new man here…

"You're replacing Dr. Myrtle?" She decided to drop the illusion. The man turned to her, and smiled. He had that knowing look.

"I knew you were eavesdropping. Next time, try to move around a little more, and make the movements natural and loose. "

Dean Phillips had paled considerably. He had not noticed her. "Pamela…"

Pamela winced… but she could not argue, not that. After all, 'Ivy' was a sacred name between herself and Alissa at the moment. "Yeah… are you the new Advanced Botanical Analysis instructor?" she addressed the new man.

He grasped her hand and squeezed it gently, his eyes twinkling, his smile poised. "Jason Woodrue. Dr. Woodrue, to you."

"Pleasure," Pamela replied, nodding curtly and giving a small smile. _These eyes…perfection. _"I'm in your class. I'll be in your class tomorrow."

"Miss Isley, if you don't mind," Phillips cut in, "I'm still in the middle of-"

"I don't believe I asked," Pamela cut across him shortly. She did not take her eyes off of Woodrue. "What do you know about the principles of Janus law?" she asked him, testing the intensity of the man with core. Woodrue, raising his eyebrows, smiled strangely.

"Only everything, Miss Isley. The principles dictate that plants are naturally designed to combat obstruction through adaption to fibers and enclaves."

"Yes, they are. What about you? Are you prepared to combat obstruction through adaption to fibers and enclaves?" She winked as she asked it, noting Woodrue's twinkling eyes.

"My lord… you're a special breed."

"Flower."

"A special flower, then," Woodrue said, nodding. Phillips was turning red in the face. Pamela, confidently, turned to the Dean and offered an option to him: "Fuck off, maybe?" She said it in a curt, authoritative voice. Woodrue chuckled, and grinned at the Dean.

"All of them like this here?"

Dean Phillips stepped forward, a finger in the air. "You listen to me, Isley: you can't _talk_ to me like that. I'm the Dean of Academic Affairs. I'm not going to stand here and be talked down to by you of all people."

Pamela popped her neck loudly, and raised a gloved hand. Administering pressure from her right palm, the little jet of invisible pheromones issued into the air around the Dean, and he suddenly calmed right the fuck down.

"Let me talk to this man in peace. Go wait in the garden, go." She jerked her head at the greenhouse. A dumb smile overtook the Dean at once. Woodrue, frowning, watched on with interest.

"S-sure, fine… I'll do that…" He chuckled stupidly, and walked away, glancing around at them with that dumb grin as he vanished beneath the shade of the glassy Eden. Pamela shrugged at Woodrue, brushing some hair aside as she beamed up at the man.

"I'm sorry about that boring asshole. You need someone to show you around the campus highlights?"

Woodrue stared, looking back and forth between the Dean, who was standing…eerily still in the middle of the greenhouse, not really doing anything, and Pamela, whose confident features were inviting and firm.

"How'd you do that?" was his first, casual question, adding a subtle little chuckle at the end that Pamela honed in on at once: an illusion, to cover up his intensity. His eyes betrayed him. She grinned.

"I have a way with people like him. They can't resist this adorable face!" She threw her arms up and put on a dopey expression, like Shirley Temple being apprehended for breaking open the cookie jar. Woodrue raised an eyebrow.

"But you didn't make that face…did you?" His voice was suddenly confident too. Confident, and cold. Pamela's grin faded a little.

"Y-yeah," she said awkwardly, lips pruning as she glanced away. "Er, you know, just playing-"

"And what kinds of toys do you play with, Pamela Isley?"

Her eyes snapped to his again. "What toys?"

"That is what I asked. Clearly, you must have a wondrous array. Some inflated ego, too, it's an obvious aspect. Bitter, on the insider…" He examined her up and down. "Hair ruffled and clothes hurriedly dressed, you forgot one button on your shorts: so, a desperation to appeal aesthetically… have I marked Pamela Isley?"

Pamela could only stare, in a beautiful combination anger, humiliation, and…awe. He saw right through her hazy screen, detecting her intentions instantaneously and addressing them as such. Her barrier shattered, and her control broken, she became desperate and, as calmly as she could, unleashed the pheromones around him.

His smile was…almost too knowing, almost too quickly. "Your perfume is a fine number. Do I detect…" He inhaled deeply, and looked pleased. "Anassa flower?"

Now the spell truly was broken. He watched her calmly, his collected demeanor terrifying. The pheromones… they were doing nothing to him. No effect. No… no anything.

"Anassa flower… yes, I thought so. I've used it a few times myself. You make your own?" he studied her closely. "Oh, naturally… look at you. Of course you do… of course you do…" He stepped forward and clapped her on the shoulder lightly. "I expect you not to disappoint me in class tomorrow." And with that, Jason Woodrue left her standing there, stunned and silent. Stunned, and terrified. She glanced around quickly, distressed. He stopped before the Dean, and obscured the man from her view for a moment… and then he moved, and the Dean was shaking his head, as if… as if awakening from a deep slumber. Woodrue put an arm around the disoriented man and led him on, continuing their conversation, but as they vanished deeper into the greenhouse, he glanced around only for a moment, smiling contentedly at Pamela, as if saying, _Don't try it again. Your embarrassment is as much a black mark as any other... _

What… what did he know?

What did he know!?

_WHAT DID HE KNOW? _


	14. Chapter 14

"Wake up," were the first words that he ever spoke to her. Simple, boring words. A command that had no intimate meaning or leopard-like prance. Just…a command. So she obeyed. As did Bruce. Bruce awoke in a different way: a way of realization. He had not seen this coming, and this had been anticipated in no foreseeable way until now, but it was evident: He, Bruce Wayne, was no longer Batman. Not as long as he was beneath the watching eye of W.

In unison, Bruce and Pamela had the same thought: _When will it end?_

Sure, he'd put in his own with W in this capture operation: after all, Woodrue and Joker, at this point, had intentions that did not see well with that of W. And when W wanted something, W saw to it that it was obtained.

So, again, "wake up" became the first word he ever said to her: so much more than "I knew you were eavesdropping" in terms of first things ever addressed: "wake up" was a command… and a part of her liked being commanded.

Then again, the first words received were only as good as the first words returned, so when her green irises snapped to life as she met his sunglasses clad oculars, with a soft smile she replied, "What took you?" She reached out at once to grab him and pull him in for his death, her hand moving quickly like a striking snake… but oh how he moved. Oh how he anticipated. One second, his arm hung limply at his side. The next millisecond, he bore her wrist in his hand, and the firm pressure upon which he induced seared her veins. It hurt to be held by this man! Hissing, she wrenched back her arm, and W smiled, allowing her to have it back as he confidently placed the hand into his jacket pocket, which was long, dark and trenchy.

"Try it again," he offered calmly, learning forward so that he was very, very close to her. His lips were only _centimeters _from her own, and he was very, very calm… so calm that it terrified her. "Go on now..try. Try. It. Again."

Her heart began to hammer. Bruce, sitting in the dark corner of the room, watched on quietly, a dark look upon his features. He wore a black turtleneck sweater and dark gray jogging pants, and around his wrist, a silver bracelet with a single flashing, luminescent green button. Pamela noticed him sitting there and watching, and she immediately voiced aloud, "Bruce Wayne…"

"Correct. It's good to see your mental capacities are at decent functionality," W noted, scribbling something into a small notepad as he walked away. "Now get up. We have breakfast and a talk waiting for us downstairs. Bruce, I assume you'll be able to survive being alone with this woman while she dresses, correct?"

"I'll get her up to speed," Bruce replied quietly, his blue eyes analyzing Pamela's face, which was bruised and slightly swollen. Pamela locked a gaze with him, frowning considerably. W nodded, and exited through a sliding door, which slid neatly into place behind him. Pamela looked around the room quickly, taking in the situation. Reflective walls, reflective floors, all so perfectly polished that they mirrored everything that was and would be, creating a distorting illusion that would have incapacitated her had this room not been as dimly lit as it was. Her bed was queen sized and comforted well enough, and beside her, a long couch and bookstand filled with all manner of titles. It was the most boring room in the world… but that was the least of her concern.

Bruce had gotten to his feet, and was leaning against the wall opposite her bed, studying her closely. Pamela realized that she was still nude, but made no attempt to cover herself, instead narrowing her eyes as she asked, "Bruce Wayne?"

"Hello again… slept well?" Bruce's voice was cold and unwelcoming. His eyes were dead and dry. Pamela grimaced.

"So you've kidnapped me, Wayne? Where am I, a lab beneath Wayne Tower? Did the GCPD decide to offer me to your labs as a science experiment? Well, experiment away…" She leaned back comfortably and smiled. "I'll kill every last man, woman and child who tries to keep me in this place. Mark. My. Words."

"Are you finished? Does it feel good to have that out of your system?"

Pamela popped her neck. "Oh I have so much to say to a man who ravaged an entire South American ecosystem in the quest to build a corporate research facility in the name of… what was it… food conservation?"

"Something that gave much needed employment opportunities to more than one thousand individuals… but we're not here to talk about that… we're her to talk about what the boss wants you to talk about." Bile came up in his throat as he said the word 'boss,' but it was a word that he had to use. _Remember your place_, as W had reminded him.

Pamela frowned. _Boss? _"I thought you were the boss of Wayne Enterprises, Mr. Wayne…"

"You're not at Wayne Enterprises, Pamela Isley. You're a very long, long way away from Wayne Enterprises."

"Then where am I?"

"I have no clue," Bruce replied shortly. "He's never told me… but I aim to find out, because I have to get you back to Gotham. That I can promise you, Isley… a swift and ensured return to lock-up in the confines of Blackgate."

"Blackgate, Mr. Wayne?" Pamela leaned against the headboard and laughed aloud, gazing up at the ceiling. "Oh, buddy, buddy, buddy… Blackgate. You think Blackgate could hold me? You think Blackgate would even dare to try?"

"Yes, I do. Now, as to-"

"Hold on," she cut across him. "What exactly am I doing here? With Bruce Wayne, of all men on this blessed earth…?"

"I'm a prisoner, same as you," he told her grimly, his eyes narrowing. "Does that help you settle in in any way?"

"A prisoner?" Her confidence faded at once. "What do you mean, a prisoner?"

"I mean, I'm, like you, an involuntary guest in W's facility. I assure you that I don't want to be here anymore than you do. But… it's not as if I have a choice at the moment." He held up his arm, and said, "Did you notice, on your own arm?" Pamela, shocked, looked at her own arm, the one that the man from earlier had not grasped, and saw that she took wore the same flashing little wristband as Bruce Wayne did.

"What is it?" she breathed.

"Insurance. 50mA in Amps. That kind of electrical discharge would stop your heart like stone. I've been wearing my own since day one. Even when I captured you at the Fours and Tens…"

Pamela looked from her deadly wristband to the man before her, and took in his features closely. Those eyes… there was something awfully familiar about those eyes…

"Say again?"

"You'll have to refrain from asking questions that you can't live without the answers to," Bruce pressed on, his head bowed and eyes closed. "W doesn't answer questions unless he feels the need to, regardless of how important they may be. While here, you must abide by the laws set down by his superiors. Namely, you will not leave these premises nor endanger the lives of the people who work here. And that includes _me_!"

During the time that he had bowed his head and closed his eyes, she had jumped from the bed and made a move for him, intent on taking Wayne unawares with her kiss of death… His hand shot out and gripped her throat even as she closed in on him, and he forcibly held her against the wall. Pamela, enraptured and annoyed simultaneously, wrapped a leg around him and tried to pull him forward with her arm, but he trapped it beneath a knee.

"You do know how to treat a girl rough, Mr. Wayne," she breathed in his face, and Bruce forcibly threw her away, tossing her onto the floor and standing above her in a dark, towering form. She gazed up at him in fear, and felt that same familiar feeling of terror… a feeling of terror that she had felt one other time before…

And it hit her.

"Mother Earth," she whispered, backing away from him. "You're… you're Bat-"

"While you're here," Bruce cut across him, "you'll keep to yourself. Any deaths will be noted and you'll be scheduled for an execution. W promises this."

"You're really him, aren't you?" she whispered. "You're really him!?"

Bruce turned away from her. "W is down the hall and there are security cameras dotting the area. None of them will miss a movement, not a single breath. Bugs are grouped and that bracelet there on your arm will give you little reminders here and there if you stray too far from its programmed proximity list. Namely, a 500 foot span from W, until he releases that restriction. Is that clear?" He glanced over his shoulder, and saw her trying to get close again. She stopped in her tracks, blushing. He turned to face her, his eyes dark and dangerous. "Your attempts at murder will only get you killed, Isley."

"Ivy!" she hissed at him, losing patience with the name. "Call me Ivy."

"Poison Ivy is a creation of notoriety. I'm going to call you Pamela Isley." He took a step forward. "And you _are_ going back to Gotham to face justice. I swear to you that. I will find a way."

Pamela clenched a fist. "I thought the room was bugged. You think this W wants to hear all about these plans of yours?"

"Oh, Bruce has been very adamant from the start on what his intentions are." The voice of W filled the room at once, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen… and yet it sounded as if he were so close. Bruce, unlike Pamela, showed no startle at the voice. "And no worries, Miss Ivy, I've already had a talk with him about that… leave him be now. I'm waiting with breakfast. Bruce, I'll take it from here. Go and find some breakfast yourself. Let her into the living room."

Bruce nodded, and said softly, "Yes, sir." He turned away from her and began to exit the room, pointing at the dresser near the bed as he left, saying, "Clothes in there. Make yourself decent." He then vanished through the sliding door, leaving her completely alone.

Pamela stood rooted to the spot, pale and sweating. Her heart was hammering faster and faster with each terrifying, unpredictable second. Where was this place? Why was Bruce Wayne here? And… and she was right, wasn't she? She had to be right! He was so much like- like the Batman… he had to be the Batman… Everything made sense. It had been Batman who had shown up at the garden when Joker and Woodrue had invaded, and it had been he who had saved her… he who must have brought her here.

_It all makes sense… Bruce Wayne is Batman? Those eyes don't lie… that was the same look he gave me when he first captured me. The same look on the night of the Fours and Tens raid… I'll never forget those eyes beneath the cowl. But what is going on exactly!?_

And then, another thought: _Toxica…Alissa… are you even alive? _

The clothes in the dresser was simplistic: black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Not her color or form, but she was, as Bruce Wayne had put it, a prisoner. She had to play along, for now… this W… she had to manipulate him. The pheromones were needed. She wondered how she could do it?

Her natural charms?

Or something else?

She felt powerless without the means to take hold of the mind. Her spells would do her no good, not here. First things were first, however: find out where she was.

Outside of the door was a shorter hallway, just as reflective and illuminated by faint blue bulbs. Beyond another door, the world changed completely.

The living room, was W had called it, looked nothing like the boring, almost white room she had awoken in. The walls were crafted from dark-red dry-stone, the floor of redwood, polished and scented to woody perfection. A single chandelier of jade, with equal coloration in its bulbs, shined down upon a seating area, where a cluster of two recliners, a semi-round sectional sofa and a black mahogany coffee table sat awaiting with a bountiful feast: fried bacon and eggs, Boudin sausages and steaming donuts, apple jelly and slices of ham with juice and cider… The smell was amazing, a captivating pheromone in its own right, and the man who awaited there…

It was the same man that had awoken her from sleep, but he had changed into new clothes as well. He was more simply dressed, wearing practically the same outfit as hers, except for his pants were black instead of gray. He had also removed the sunshades, and she saw now, as he looked up at her, the intensity of those eyes: they burned orangey-red, with slit pupils and a fiery interior about them. They were the most terrifying eyes she had ever beheld… and in some ways, the most beautiful.

He sat waiting with a glass of orange juice in hand, his feet resting comfortably upon the sectional sofa, and he tipped his glass to her.

"You took so long I had feared the breakfast would go bad," he acknowledged her softly, with a smile just as subtle and relaxing. "Are you ready to join me now?" His voice was soothing, the accent Easterly, like something from the United Kingdom? "Sit," he commanded, motioning at the many plates of food on the other side of the table. "I want you to eat your fill."

Pamela, eyes narrowed, slowly walked around the table and took seat the recliner, gazing at the demon eyed man before her. He was not human. Like her, he had Ascended, but in what way?

As if sensing some unspoken question approaching, W smiled and said, "You tell me, and I'll you." He tapped the side of his head lightly. Pamela nodded, content.

"Woodrue," she replied.

"Stairway to the Sun," was his reply.

They both went silent, each of them sizing up the other, and Pamela frowned considerably. "I'm afraid I don't understand," she admitted, taking a sip of orange juice from the glass he had prepared for her. The contents within went foul at once, turning sickly yellow-green as the poison in her lips reacted to the liquid. Nevertheless, she drained the glass quickly enough, a mad thirst hitting her now that she bore witness to this fine feast.

"You'd like them," he replied, carving into bacon. "They're flowers, you know. Fine flowers, too, but they only grow in one particular part of northwest Africa. What you see before you is clear, I would hope: I am a man reborn from flowers. What about you?"

Pamela's interest skyrocketed at once. Her heart was hammering again, but out of excitement, not fear. "Flowers?"

"Yes, flowers. Stairway to the Sun… I didn't name them, they were discovered long before me… but they made me into the man I am today. I have a special interest in the various contributions of Mother Earth."

Pamela grinned as she swallowed ham. _He's a bold one. A manipulator. He says what he thinks I want to hear…_

From the other side, W twiddled a fork between his fingers. _She'll begin to suspect me a manipulator. She'll believe I intend to use her, that my mentioning of the plants is a ploy to win her over. Then, when she's defensive, I'll throw in the ace. _

"Yes," he continued, "I'm a botanist by trade. My favorite strain of natural anesthetics are the _Covellian dyostasis_. It's what I had Bruce use on you during the raid at your hideout. Apparently, even you aren't immune to everything."

The clatter of her fork was all too audible in the silent room. Her eyes were so wide. "That's a lie," she whispered. "The _Covellian dyostasis_ is a poison from the southern Indies capable of-"

"Complete motor defection with a neural systemic strain," W agreed.

"You don't understand how my body works, do you, Mr. W? I am immune to all manner of poisons and toxins. To diseases and the like. There's no way you could have poisoned me and put me out of commission like that? My body would absorb it in the same way it would absorb any other form of nutrition."

"Unless the strain were mutated with additional viral components…"

Pamela's heart stopped hammering. In fact, it stopped altogether. His words were enough to strike anyone dead. "W-what are you saying?" she hissed.

He leaned forward now, and she caught a powerful trace of fine cologne, a most gratifying smell of…lavender? Yes, it was lavender cologne. And when she smelled it, it empowered her senses dramatically. She blushed when he studied her closely, and tried to look away… but she found this almost impossible. He smelled so good, and those eyes… those eyes had such an otherworldly charm to them.

"Poison Ivy… this is the name you chose?"

She nodded, uncomfortably, and took a sip from her drink… he did the same thing.

"I see," he noted, sitting back and slouching, slightly… he was very, very confident as he kept his gaze intent upon her. He could tell that she was becoming uncomfortable. "It's a fine name, as long as you remember the promise. A name is a promise. Did you intend to keep your promises?"

"I have kept my promises," she said defensively… though it was only out of instinct. She was more fascinated with the man than she was annoyed… but he could not be allowed to know that yet. "I have killed countless individuals within the last two years alone, vagrants and bile that would threaten the very preservation of Mother Earth if I did not step in and take action…"

"It's a fine goal, to be sure." He popped his neck loudly, and decided to offer her a hand. "Albert Wesker, then. You were honest with me, so I'll be honest with you."

"Albert Wesker…W… hmm… You couldn't even change the letter?"

He chuckled softly. _There we are. Negative output. _"I'm not usually in a habit of offering my real name to anyone… but as a prisoner, here, it would do you little good."

"Tell me, Wesker… why am I a prisoner, then?"

Wesker studied her closely, notably her lips, such fine weapons that they were. "Because I performed a service… and I expect payment."

"Payment?"

"Woodrue would have had you decimated, you know."

"Why save me from Woodrue? What do you care what happens to me, Mr. Wesker?"

"I care about what happens to the woman who had the capacity to do what Woodrue only dreams of doing…"

There was silence. He knew he had struck gold, and the time was now to perform a strafe with his sword and dissipate her shield completely.

"You, Poison Ivy, are the future."

"Ha!" She looked away from him, shaking her head in disgust. "Bold words for a-"

"Human?" he offered, tipping his glass to her. She sat stunned, sweating. _Oops_…

"Well, obviously not… no, you're something else…"

"But because I'm not you, I can never share your view? Is that correct?"

_Checkmate. _

Pamela sighed. "Alright fine, then. You tell me: what would you even begin to know about what Woodrue dreams of doing?"

"It's simple," Wesker replied calmly, draining his glass and reaching out to pour more juice for himself, "I work for him."

The air around them became electrified at once. The look upon her face told a story within its own world, an existence that contained its mixture of shock and anger: that it made livid her heart, and singed her soul. She stood up quickly, hands shaking uncontrollably, and he followed suit, moving swifter than any one person should be able to.

"You _work_ for him!?" she breathed, her eyes wide and filled with fury. Wesker nodded.

"I am most loyal to Jason Woodrue. I am the most dedicated man to his work, his most trusted ally and the source of much of his success in the last few years. I serve him loyally to the point where there are few secrets between us. He knows of my trustworthiness to an almost god-like level."

"This facility is his!?" she gasped, backing into the couch and falling onto the cushions. She scrambled to get up, but he was moving in, around the table, and she curled into a defensive balls, shaking madly. "This facility is Woodrue's!? So you'll had me over to him!?"

"My God, you are truly idiotic," Wesker sighed, coming to sit beside him. "No. As a matter of fact, I have no such intention."

_Liar_, she screamed in her head. _Get him now! _

She threw herself forward, hands reaching for his throat as she closed in the space, trying to force her lips upon his, desperate to escape as quickly as she could… The force with which he held her at bay was maddeningly painful against her ribs, and she yielded, falling backwards onto the floor. He examined her closely.

"Calm down," he told her. "This behavior will not do. I have supplied you breakfast. Finish it while I explain things to you."

"I don't want to hear it!" she screamed, leaping to her feet and spinning around. "No!" She began to run for the opposite end of the room, towards a door that led to who knew where… a lightning fast blur shot past her, and within moments, he was awaiting her by the door, leaning against it calmly, but with a look of slight, slight irritation. She stopped in her tracks, terrified. Wesker shook his head.

"No, no, no…"

She spun around again, eager to get back to the room in which she had awoken… but suddenly, a blast of air hit her from behind, and she felt her arms pinned into place. He was right behind her now. His speed was beyond human.

"Please, let me go!" she begged.

He obliged, and she quickly stumbled forward, spinning around for the final time to confront him. He looked…almost amused.

"You're quick on your feet," he observed, "but how quick am I?"

"Too quick…. I'd never escape this place."

"Good girl," he said, nodding. "And so your first lesson concludes. Now, will you sit down?"

Against her better wishes, she knew that she had no choice. Sure, he was _asking_, but there was a reason swords wore sheathes: a mask is a mask is a mask.

"Now," he began softly, when they had both re-seated, "I am the closest thing that Jason Woodrue has to what you would consider… a friend. He trusts me with both his life and the life of his movement. And do you know why? Because I've given him no reason to distrust me. I keep on the promises I make to him and I exceed his expectations. After all, my employers pay me prime salary for the job."

"Your employers…?"

"Of course. My company has had its eye on the Woodrue family for years. We originally developed our interest in 1963. 1963, the year of the New England Tuskanee Epidemic."

"The Tuskanee Epidemic!?" Pamela gasped, her heart hammering at once. "Oh, Go- I… then he… he _told_ you?"

Wesker smiled. She was finally catching up. "Yes, we know all about her."

"But he… he told me he would never tell anyone… that he had never told anyone else about her!"

"Well, she wasn't exactly a stranger, was she? Her name went out of the annals of American history quickly enough, yes, but nevertheless, we knew about her abilities. We knew about her potential. Woodrue told me everything I needed to know about her work, too… after all, as he must have told you, during your time as his assistant, everything he's been working towards is based on _her_ research…. Her ambitions fuel him daily, as you saw for yourself. The original…" He grinned. "…Poison Ivy, I suppose."

Pamela grimaced, her fist clenched. "I thought that secret meant… meant there was something about me… something about me that he trusted with his life…"

"You wanted to be the only person who knew."

Pamela blinked back her green tears. "Yes…"

"Because you would have felt special?"

She nodded. "Stupid, isn't it?"

Wesker nodded. "Yes, it is." She looked up at him with a fiery expression, and he continued. "Now, I'm glad you know about Pampadora. She was the start of it all. Pampadora Woodrue, the prodigy child… and forgotten, too. A disowned lineage, cast aside for its radical movements into the research of biological enhancements… The Woodrue's are an old family with a public reputation less than desired in favor of their seemingly more "ethical" relations, the Ashfords…"

Pamela nodded. "The Ashford family… he mentioned them too… in disgust."

"Well, the families warred with each other, didn't they? Claims of research espionage, murder, all manner of conspiracies from both sides… and truth on both sides in relation to these claims."

"Well, both families are gone now so it matters little, doesn't it? Only one man left from either side…"

"And what do you know about the other one?" Wesker implored.

"Ashford? Allen or Alge or…or something like that…."

"Alfred. Alfred Ashford."

"Yes… him… see, that's how little they mean to me and the rest of the society. They're as nothing as the Woodrue family."

Wesker popped his neck loudly. "Give them time…"

"What?"

"Pampadora's research," he pressed on, "fueled contemporary successes in pharmaceuticals from the Ashford side of the family, courtesy of the Umbrella Corporation. Much of what she left behind was picked up by Alexander Ashford during the seventies, a few short years following the birth of his children, one of whom was Alfred. It is because of this…espionage…that the Umbrella Corporation has managed to perfect its Prometheus strain-"

"Prometheus strain?" Pamela cut in. "What's that?"

Wesker looked pleased that she was asking questions, and answered thusly, "Let me show you." He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, where a long shelf of potted plants sat. In particular, he reached for one near the middle. It was a basic looking thing, to be sure, almost identical to _Salvia officinalis, _the "common sage" or "garden sage." But the tips of the leaves were a subtle, darkened hue, and the smell that came off of them was not unlike some strengthened aloe vera, with something else added…something deeper and more chemical…

He offered it, and she took the potted herb in hand, studying it closely, her eyes darting along its slender, light green body, feeling the soft, almost cream-like texture of the leaves… this plant was not the strongest, she deduced, but there was something there nonetheless: she could feel little vibrations pulsing from it, as if it were breathing on a human-like level.

"The boys downstairs," Wesker told her, "have taken to calling it, "the green herb." The "green herb…" Hardly a name at all, and one that will not do."

"What have you done to this plant?" Pamela asked softly, placing an ear near the bass and listening to some soft, fuzzy static in the air, not unlike bees…

"We've enhanced it. The company has taken to calling it the Prometheus strain. Well, I have, anyway. I haven't made an official presentation yet to the Board of Directors. But I believe it to be ready for basic field testing. If you really want to know, hold out your hand."

"What?" She looked suspicious. "Why?"

Instead of replying, Wesker's hand shot out and pulled it her arm forward. She screamed loudly, the power of his grip breaking her arm at once. Pain, such an agonous fire, overwhelmed her as the bone shattered, and she fell onto the floor, writhing in pain. Wesker knelt down beside her, calmly, smiling as he held her useless arm up and forced her face along with it, so that they were eye level. Her green tears were falling now due to the pain of his attack.

"What did you do that for!?" she exclaimed, her teeth gritted. She looked feral.

His response, again, was a silent action. He took the herb from out of the broken mess (she had dropped the thing onto the floor, and the pot had shattered), and he began to place the herb into her mouth, forcing through her barred teeth. Even as the herb was forced down her throat, she clamped down onto his hand with her teeth and bit deeply. Her moment had come, her chance! A small wound was all she needed. Her lips and saliva, poisonous as they were, would do the rest of her work once there was even the smallest wound within his flesh…

He jerked his hand out at once. She grabbed her mouth in pain. His skin… it was like biting into stone! Standing up, Wesker shook his head, sighing, "You really must stop attempting to murder me, Miss Isley."

"MY NAME IS IVY!" she screamed, jumping to her feet and throwing out both arms for him… "DO YOU HEAR ME, MY NAME IS-" And she froze. Yes… both arms were outstretched indeed, eager to remove life from him… both arms… She gazed at her right arm, the one he had broken, in horror. No… not horror… fascination? Her breathing intensified. The bruises, the pressure, the pain: all of it had gone! All of it! It felt…normal? Fine? _Healed_!?

She looked up at him in disbelief and shock. He looked pleased. "As you can see, the Prometheus strain is a success. More so, with you, I'd say, due to your biological adaptability to plant matter. A broken arm no more. That is the power I wished to show you." He held out a hand, as if presenting to an audience. "Within a few months, the first public marketing opportunities will be abundant. Umbrella will present, "Prometheus: Surgery In A Bottle," a revolution in home-based pharmaceuticals capable of restoring dead tissue and interior inflictions to a medium degree of intensity."

Pamela felt faint as he talked. She was overwhelmed by all of this. Unable to comprehend such a powerful revolution of medication, she stuttered out, "Y-you're with U-Umbrella?"

"As I said, I am an employee," Wesker noted, stretching out across the couch. "Secretly, I consider myself its most promising researcher. The Prometheus is merely a side-project, however… I need greater things. I have a mind for greater things."

Pamela fell to her knees, suddenly completely fatigued. Weakness was not even a word she could think of speaking aloud. "And you want me for all of this?"

"You've now seen for yourself the power of the Prometheus strain," Wesker told her. "But can you imagine, Ivy… a world filled with something greater than a miracle plant: a world filled with plants that could fight back, effectively, against deforestation and the chemical malfunctions of humankind. Mutations that, given the right care, could restore the Eden that we so desperately crave…"

"The Prometheus is a start to all of that?" she whispered. Wesker nodded.

"A small start. It will put Umbrella ahead of its top competitor at last…"

"Wayne." She knew it before he said it. It was a common, public fact, well-known and happily worshiped in media, that Wayne Enterprises and the Umbrella Corporation were competitors in the market for pharmaceutical research. For a time, Umbrella had been following behind closely the efforts of Wayne Labs representatives… but what she saw before her, this Prometheus strain… "This would put you far, far ahead of Wayne Enterprises. Umbrella would dominate the pharmaceuticals market."

"And what do you think would happen afterward? The public would swarm in their support of Umbrella. So much so, in fact, that we would have a foothold in a more secretive service: biological warfare."

"Bio-weapons? How?"

"By using our consumers as test subjects. What if, say, the chemicals that Umbrella developed had…secret additives? Viral components, you see, capable of enhancing the agility and strength of its consumers?"

"Turning them into behemoths?"

"Long-term… it would be so much easier to show you all of this. In fact… I daresay I could show you all of this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I could show you the long-term goals, Ivy. I could show you the true intentions of Umbrella. What we are truly capable of… Would you like to see the 'Hunter' class?"

She did not know what he meant, but she felt some powerful, almost whimsical secret behind those words.

"Where do I fall into this, really?"

"As I said… I work under Woodrue as a research assistant, an assignment given to me by the Board Directors of Umbrella. At least, the only one that matters. Ozwell Spencer… We've been stockpiling Woodrue's research for more than two years now, under my watchful eyes, analyzing every change and direction as he progresses. And eventually, we'll have enough information to carry on Woodrue's work without him. The long-term goal, Miss Ivy, is to murder Woodrue."

"Murder him?" she breathed.

"And," Wesker added, "I want you to do it."

There was a silence. But it was a very infatuating silence.

"What?" she whispered.

"You heard me correct," he said. "When I give the word, I want to give you the opportunity to exact your full vengeance upon the fool. I will let you remove Woodrue. But only after we've widdled out the contents of his mind to a point where we can continue on without him. We're so close… Woodrue is a dangerous idiot. He's a genius… but still, an idiot, and a messy one at that. His desperation to use Gotham as a breeding ground and remove you in the process has led him to take the mad route of allying himself with someone as pestilent as the Joker… That madman will, of course, also be removed, but for now, I must continue observing Woodrue and advancing his work. Eventually, my employer will give me the clear to remove both. I will allow you to kill Woodrue. You, his greatest failure and his once greatest creation."

"Freely?" she whispered, enthralled.

"He killed you… it's only fair that you do the same to him."

"So… how do I help you, then?"

"I'm glad you asked." He now came over to her, and stood before, helping her stand and gazing into her eyes as he held her arms. "You, Poison Ivy, are the future, as I said. Your research, your skills, they will come after Woodrue's death. As for the pre-stage…" He popped his neck. "I'll give you chores. You should consider yourself an involuntary guest during your time here. Not so much a prisoner. You will not leave this facility unless permitted to do so, but you _will_ leave this facility, and that's the point. I will allow you freedom in time… consider this witness protection protocol."

"And these chores?"

"Namely, I will study you. I will study your biology and take from you what I need to aid Woodrue in his research. His movement, currently, is on the brink of something revolutionary."

"What? What could he be up to that you would need to study me to ensure it succeeds?"

"It has already succeeded. Woodrue has created another."

Pamela went silent for a moment. Another?

"Another what?" she demanded.

"Another…you. I daresay, the term 'Poison Ivy' is unique to you. Woodrue and I have taken to calling them many things. I prefer to call your kind 'The Florics,' something Woodrue has supported. And he has created the perfect Floric."

"In what way, exactly? I was under the impression that he had failed to create one in me… that it had all been a ruse to murder me."

"For your sake, that is true… but he still had the means of doing so."

Her eyes widened. "He truly succeeded?" she said quietly.

Wesker nodded. "Lasetta Rilee, once heiress to the Oregon Coupe de Grace. Now… now the solution to Eden, as far as Woodrue is concerned. Lasetta's biology is, in a word, divine. The toxicity is similar to your own, but she has an evolutionary advantage: her body continually resets itself, issuing from her pores a continuous cloud of the Nyrox poison, making it practically impossible for anyone to get close to her without inhaling the deadly spore cloud and dying instantly. Her body… it produces seeding spores. The spores will not only kill anyone who comes into contact with them, but they will use the body as a breeding ground, producing flora capable of emitting the same toxin. In essence, she is constantly creating more and more Floric life with every step she takes. The poison she produces is developing at a rapid rate, too. Thus far, we've not found a hazard suit that can withstand its almost…acidic qualities. Many of Woodrue's staff have died as a result of getting too close to her."

"She sounds perfect," Ivy breathed. "She… she truly sounds perfect…"

"She is the ideal 'Mother Nature' that you and Woodrue so desperately crave. Her purity as the perfect organism ensures that Woodrue had perfected what his sister Pampadora sought to do years ago. He'll unleash Lasetta into every major city across the United States. Within months, Lasetta could demolish the West and build a deadly utopia of plant-life. But he needs resources. Any major movement and nations across the sea will respond with deadly force. She is the perfect biological weapon, and will be tempered as such."

"We could obtain her, correct!?" Pamela began to pace about now, excited and beyond energized. Her mind was reeling with visual possibilities, her heart aflame with a passion greater than she had ever imagined. It was real! It was all becoming real! Eden… Eden was returning! "Once Woodrue is dead, Lasetta could be ours. With Umbrella's financial advantages and influence, we could achieve what Woodrue…" She smirked, and Wesker's earlier words came back to her. "…what Woodrue could only dream of doing."

Wesker nodded. "That is the mid-term goal."

"And our race… could our race multiply?"

"Ideally, yes. As it stands, I have not risked getting too close to Lasetta. I have my own biological 'insurances', but I doubt I could withstand the potency of Lasetta. For some time, she can only have close contact from one other person…"

And Pamela remembered at once the terrible demon that had come to attack her.

"Woodrue… he's mutated himself."

"Into something beyond a man. He's beyond Florics. There is no longer a discernible quality of appearance between he and a living tree."

"The bastard succeeded way more than I thought he could…"

"It is naturally the step that your kind will take, in the end…"

Pamela nodded, sighing. "Okay, then… show me more, Wesker. Show me so much more. Introduce me to your world."

Wesker smiled. "What a world it is."


	15. Chapter 15

Archibald Helan was slowly, slowly on his way out. He had left church early that morning, skipping out during the offering period, and had drug himself down to Kane's Stop and Stew for a Sunday morning spirit… the only spirit he got out of Sundays, truly. Every day, every hour, the man had suffered the barrage of a man's downfall, mentally and spiritually: _Gotta do it. Gotta leave. Gotta get out. _

Political science endeavors no longer meant anything to him. Football practice for the upcoming season did nothing to stimulate the body or soul. He had been weak. So very weak. Day by day, Coach Tannin would berate him for his poor performances that would "cost us the fucking game if you don't stop with this droopy bullshit!", and thus Archie had even stopped attending them. He had not been attending classes. He would spend day after day shut away at home, vomiting half the time from his continually growing need for the drink, a daily requirement to function on even the most basic of levels.

And all the while, the source of his desperation haunted her: the face she had made. A stupid, ill-begotten face of pain and pleasure, of befuddled mind… It had all started in church one morning, when Brother Kerry had spoken about running away from God, about how we could not hide behind our sin. He had used the story of Cain and Abel. Ruthlessly had Cain slain his own brother with a stone out of the deepest resentment for his brother's victories… so much so that he had tried to run away, and hide from God, an impossible feat.

"God always follows you… He finds you. What will happen when He does?"

Cain had been marked by God following that murder. Marked, so that any man or woman who slayed him would be punished "seven-fold."

Was there any such a revenge for his sake? He, Archibald Helan, who had drugged, raped, and abandoned a helpless young woman and laughed about it for weeks and weeks later as he continually revisited his sin in the form of video….?

Her face haunted his dreams, and his awakened world. Everywhere he went, he saw that redheaded victim, shrunken away in physical misery, broken… He tried, more often that he should have, to speak with Donovan and Otto about it, yearning to know if they too were haunted by Pamela Isley's drug-induced face… whether or not they were submitted to her tear-filled eyes, filled with some dark, private realization…

"Yeah," had been Otto's response.

"Forgive yourself and forget it," had been Donovan's.

And that had been it. They were reserved to their sin. He, Archibald, must learn to do the same, to be the same!

Kane's was empty, for the most part. Robert Kane himself was making shadows upon the dimly lit wall for the entertainment of his three year old granddaughter, who sat atop the filthy counter of the bar, sucking in the secondhand smoke that so passionately blew about the room from the vagrant in black who sat near them. A young woman sat on Archie's left, silently sipping from a glass of scotch. Early morning drinkers for early morning sanctity. Everyone here had problems. Everyone. Archie felt kindred spirit with them as he tipped his vodka down some more. The room was cold, the isolation of it otherworldly, almost. He felt that God could at least not touch him here.

Polishing off his glass, he spoke softly to Kane, "Can I have another one? Just one more?"

"Your funeral," Kane commented, pushing a glass towards him at once. Archie was surprised at this. The man had already prepared him a second drink, and had had it waiting and ready to be consumed. He looked inquiringly at the bartender, who sighed and said, "I know a man who has regret. You're filled with it, son. Want my advice? Confront it directly. Stop letting the drink do the work for you."

"What's the point?" Archie almost plead. "I confront it and I'm dead. I confront it and I'll get put away…" He inhaled the vodka as Kane and the vagrant near him watched on in somberness.

"I don't know what you did, son," Kane said quietly, "but that drink will kill you quicker than anything else, trust me. I know." He turned back to his grandchild, who was getting fussy, and promptly swept her into his arms. "I once saw this dog," Kane continued, rocking the child gently into rest, "when I was younger. Far younger. Twenty-three years old. Just got out of the army, too. World War Two, September of 1945. Had nowhere to go but the streets. No family, no friends… I was a wanderer in Jacksonville. Lived in a defect public bathroom in Ponte Vedra. All I had to my name was the view of the Atlantic and the occasional side-job. No one wanted to hire a soldier who suffered from PTSD."

"Sucks…" Archie said quietly, draining his glass and slamming it down loudly.

Kane nodded. "Well, I saw this dog one day. Little pooch. Gray and dirty like me. Some kind of mixed Scottish terrier, I don't know… but let me tell you something: desperation will make you do terrible things. Dog was a fancy breed. Must have escaped its owner's yard. Still had a bit of feeble chain hanging off of its collar. I picked up that dog. Had a name on it and everything. Even had an address. Now this is the kind of rich dog that, if you brought it back to the owners, you'd most likely get yourself some kind of monetary award for doing so… but there was something tugging at me. Hunger. I was hungry. I hadn't eaten in days. Some boys would come down, every now and then, and toss empty candy wrappers at me… I was so hungry."

"What did you do?" asked the vagrant.

"I ate that dog is what I did. Unclean animal, but I prepared him fine enough. He fed me for a few days. Worst taste imaginable, something like feces if I could imagine that taste. But he fed me… and I enjoyed it. Later, I come to find out that that dog had belonged to Frank Whitehead, the mayor of Jacksonville at that time. And he'd posted a $500 reward for the dog's return. Do you understand now? What I could have gotten if I hadn't let my desperation win?"

"That was a lot of money, wasn't it?"

"By today's standards, it would be close to $6,600. I threw away money that could have easily kept me clothed and fed for a long time. Probably could have gotten me a home. I threw away the best thing that could have happened to me in exchange for three days of eating a disgusting dog."

"Fucking shame," Archie chuckled.

"You watch your mouth around my granddaughter, boy," Kane warned. "You're in church clothing, too. Listen, the point is, you throw everything away now, drinking away at something that aint gonna keep you held over, you'll lose opportunity, boy…"

Archie stood to his feet, glaring at the old man with cold eyes. "Maybe that's for the best, then."

Kane shook his head. "You're young. You're really young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Are you going to waste it, son?"

Archie turned his back to the man. "Why the fuck not?" Not wanting to hear anything more from this stern old bastard, he threw down a twenty and left the bar without a word more, angered and sick from the conversation that had just taken place. He knew what he had done, and it had not been eating a dog: he had raped a woman, and shown it to the world. That was something he could never come back from, he knew. There was no bar waiting for him at the end of his dark tunnel: the only establishment he would ever end up running would be a cell at the end of C-Block in Blackgate.

"I'm sorry." Archie looked around, and saw that the young woman who had been sitting next to him had followed him out. Her eyes looked sad.

He looked her up and down. She was the definition of an isolate: dirty black jacket, torn stockings and ruffled black hair. Pale blue eyes stared at him, spoiled by heavy eyeliner. To say the least, she was a scary looking sort, and smelled to boot, not unlike flip-flops in the rain. Her lips were painted black.

"Sorry?" he repeated.

The girl nodded quietly. "Yeah. I'm sorry. You know, about… about whatever the hell you're going through." She looked downcast, and sighed. "Whatever's bothering you is really bad."

"You have no fucking idea," Archie returned, and turned away from her, heading towards the side alley that would take him close to the docks. There, he would start looking into boat rentals… The girl sped up and followed beside him.

"Maybe I do," she said earnestly, looking wide-eyed and desperate. "Maybe I've done my own fair share of fucked up."

"Look, don't bother me, please," Archie sighed, his voice shaking. The thought of people suddenly discussing his problems, and strangers at that, made the situation a thousand times worse. "Please, I want to be alone…"

"Hey!" She slapped a palm against his chest and stopped him. He looked at her incredulously.

"What!?" he snapped.

The girl's lip quivered. "You can talk to me, you know. About your problems."

"I don't even know you," Archie said. "Why would I talk to you about my problems?"

"Because Mr. Kane is right. You're a fucking mess. Look at you: church clothing and yet you're half-plastered from a Sunday morning vodka train. Why? What made you think that was a solution?"

"It's my own business," Archie mumbled, trying to push past her. She barred his way defiantly, and he sighed. He could not even find the willpower to get angry with her: his guilt was too great. "Look, please, just take my word that I've done unforgivable shit, okay. Why do you think I'm not sitting in the Lord's house right now? It's because the Lord don't want me there. He don't like my type. Never has. I don't have a place there… so I'm gonna stick around where I belong."

"That's bullshit and you know it," the girl said. "A house of redemption is a house of sinners, aint it? What have you done? What bad have you done so much that you're afraid to go to the one place where redemption is taught at its core?"

Archie beheld this girl incredulously. She looked like a tramp but spoke articulately like a scholar. He leaned against the wall of the next door laundry mat and looked at the distant docks. The glistening waters of Gotham Bay called out to him: _Leave this place behind, and sail to something new. _He could afford a boat. He could afford a boat and sail away, maybe to Ireland or somewhere in East Canada. Anywhere, as long as it was outside and far, far away from Gotham City. The girl watched his eyes studying the water as well, and understanding dawned on her face.

"You think running away from your problems is the solution?"

"Maybe," Archie admitted quietly. "Maybe it's the only solution. Some guys are good at running…"

"What about you?"

Archie grinned, sighing. "Me? I'm a nobody. I've always been a nobody. Compared to…other people… I've always be a good runner, and a good hider."

"I see…" She sighed too, and fidgeted nervously with her gloved hands. It was rather cold. The smell of the ocean wafted through the air. Today, it was sweeter than salt, in a way. It put his heart at ease. He looked over at the girl, and saw that she was studying him closely with wide, imploring eyes.

"You don't know me," she said quietly, "but you can talk to me…"

And for some reason, he felt truthfulness from that statement. Something about this girl was inviting. She looked filthy, but felt so clean. He slid down, onto the pavement of the alleyway, and smiled a little. Why, he had no idea.

"I guess… I hurt someone."

"How did you hurt them?" She sat down opposite him, her expression soft and reassuring. Archie made eye contact with her as tears dribbled down.

"I suppose, maybe… I just… wanted to take advantage of an intoxicated person…"

The truth seemed to dawn on her soft expression, as her eyebrows rose, a little. "Did you rape someone?"

Archie's heart stung at the accusation… but damn it, it was the Sabbath, and even if it had not been, he felt no power to lie anyway. "Yeah…"

"I see… And you weren't punished for it?"

"No… no, I wasn't… I had friends who have influence. They paid off the right hands. Kept me out of Blackgate. She was drunk… we… we d-d-drugged h-her…" He was now sobbing. He could not contain it any longer. His guilt was a fire that came to consume him, his heart broken, his soul tainted with agony unheard of. "There were three o-o-of us! T-t-three! And w-we…we… oh, God, _we took turns_! One… one after another, filming it! We filmed it!" He slammed his fist against the ground, scraping his skin, breaking open a bloodway. "And she was a-a-a mental case! She was already messed up! And we took advantage of her!" He fell against the wall and sobbed hysterically, shaking madly as he cradled himself into his arms.

The girl sat in silence, observing this tormented man, her expression sad and pained as much as his was. She pulled her own legs together, hugging herself closely, looking deep in thought. "That's terrible," she whispered at length. She looked down both ways of the alley. They seemed to be the only people around in this deserted street. "And you…you feel guilt, don't you? You regret it?"

"Yes!" Archie sobbed, clawing at the ground. His heart felt as if it were going to explode out of his chest. "Oh, God, yes! I want to take it back! I want to go back and erase it! I can't… I can't get her fucking face out of my mind. When I sleep, she… she shows up and she just _stares_ at me… and when I'm awake, I still see her everywhere. She won't stop haunting me… because I wasn't punished for it…" He moaned loudly in his pain.

The girl, eyes closed in her own heartbreak, nodded, and moved forward, crawling over to the other side where he sat, and without hesitation, swept him into her arms. Muscular as he was, he weighed nothing in his misery, and she held him softly for several minutes, allowing him to cry into her shoulder, stroking his back calmly as she moaned a soft little tune to him: "'There we go, again, again, as pain comes to seek you, Remember well, my darling dear, that life's too good for you…'"

"I'm sorry, Pamela," Archie sobbed into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry…."

"Is that her name?" the girl whispered into his ear, her own tear falling from one eye. "Pamela?"

"Yeah… yeah…."

"I think…given the circumstances of what happened to her…" The girl exhaled deeply. "She'd prefer the name 'Ivy..'

Archie stopped shaking. He looked up at her, eyes flooding and blotchy, and she smiled sadly.

"What?"

"I said," the girl returned, her gloved hands suddenly holding his face tightly, "I believe Ivy is more appropriate. Specifically…" And she kissed him. She kissed him long, she kissed him passionately. From his vantage, only his eye and her eye made linear for his sight, both sad… yet one still filled with traces of joy: her own. As her tongue entered his mouth, she made a soft, moaning sort of noise, so sensual in its delivery. Her bitter smell was swept away as something more sweet and inviting saturated the air around them, her grip on his face fierce and somewhere painful, but her taste… her taste was beyond awful. It tasted… foul. Foul, and it made him nauseous at once. He was still getting that awful sickly aura even as she ripped off the black wig and allowed her long, clean, wavy crimson hair to cascade down upon him, as if to devour him. She pulled her lips away, and finished her thought with, "…Poison Ivy."

And Archie stared, with horror, into the triumphant, savage face of Pamela Isley, wiping his saliva from her lips and removing much of the black lipstick upon them, revealing some form of rubbery case over her real ones…

And just as he observed all of this, physical pain like no other that he had ever endured struck him hard. He doubled over, his throat feeling hot, fever overcoming him as the most nauseating sensation ruptured him on the inside. Her black lipstick was heavily covering his lips and chin. He began to choke, trying to force out a sound but only gagging. Pamela tenderly stroked his chin with her gloved finger, her expression darkly jubilant.

"I forgive you," she whispered.

He fell over, falling forward into her chest, unmoving as he let out one last, painful gag. His limp body felt oddly warm against her, and she held the corpse close for some time, cradling it as she watched the boats pass by in the distance, sailing into free winds of excitement and leisure. After a few minutes, Pamela hoisted Archie's body up and hoisted him away, towards his black Halmarch SUV. All the while, her mind reeled with bitter satisfaction and unusual joy.

After so much preparation and timing, the lipstick had been perfected. Her new weapon had finally been given its test run. She had decided to make Archie her first. He had deserved such a special death, killed by the very sin he had once inflicted upon her: she had raped him, using her pheromones to make his willingness to talk secured. He never had stood a chance against her influence…

To any bystanders, it seemed that she was dragging a drunken friend into his car, and she was able to drive away with his body without any delay or interference.

"Sorry, Archie," Pamela sighed, glancing up at the rear-view mirror and examining the poisoned corpse in the backseat. His face was contorted into shock and disgust, his skin paled and his veins… his veins had turned black. "But it only seemed fair. I admire your honesty, and I truly believed you when you said that you were sorry, but…" She tilted the mirror back to herself, and fixed her hair, brushing away the dirt from his disguise's wig. "… a die for a die."

She took Archie back, deep into the woods where she had buried Kevin and Patterson, and promptly added Archie to the pile, vowing to return for the body once she had better, off-campus accommodations. She wanted Archie to be displayed proudly, as any hunter would display his prey after a successful purge of that nature…

So she decided to take his head. It was the least she could do, sawing into him with a Lennox hackmaster and taking for herself something to mount on the wall at home. The rest of his body, still dressed in his Sunday best, it could be reclaimed later. It had to be. One day, the New Eden would need to behold its mother's examples. In her delusion, it was bitter poetry.


	16. Chapter 16

She stared at the creature… and it just stared right back. When she fidgeted, it shook violently, crouched on all fours. When she moved to the right, it followed her as such, staring with yellow, terrible eyes… Drool slivered down through its fangs: it looked as if it were trying to smile, the way its teeth fit together in that Cheshire fashion. Bulky, dark green and scaly, the reptilian monstrosity had grand claws and a frog-like demeanor.

The classification above its bulletproof glass tank read **MA-121 "Hunter α." CAUTION: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**… Authorized personnel? She blinked hard at the words. What authorized bastard would want to enter the cage with this thing prowling about within? Its habitation unit was filled with heavy foliage, great shrubs and the like allowing the creature hiding space… though it was very intrigued by her presence. Hungry and intrigued. Wesker stood some feet behind her, analyzing her reaction carefully. He detected how enthralled she had become.

"We keep him separate," he told her quietly, stepping up beside her now and watching the creature's prowling movements. "We've named him 'Stephen,' after the first researcher he killed following his first breakout."

"F-first breakout?" Pamela moaned, paling at once, even more so than her usual color. Wesker nodded.

"The isolating protocols malfunctioned. Devices installed in the cage for security, you know. By this point, the creature has learned not to attack the glass: the danger zone is there." He motioned at the floor, where a long red line had been painted the width of the floor of the cage. "When he passes it, the isolating protocols will activate and an electromagnetic discharge will take effect from these." He prodded the glass sharply, making the creature within jump back, and Pamela saw little black spheres lined along the bottom of the glass on the other side. "When he first escaped, it was because these devices had malfunctioned. The creature… it had sensed the electricity in the air vanishing. It can pick up traces for up to thirty feet. The glass, too, was not as reinforced as it is now. It murdered several researchers when it escaped. We lost thirteen in staff. Its ferocity and huger seems almost insatiable."

"It's… looking at me as if it wants to eat me," Pamela noted.

"It desires nothing less. You're a living target, and that is all it cares for. Though, with your unique biology…one must wonder if it would survive such an action."

"It looks amphibious. DNA extraction from a frog breed?" she theorized, pressing her face against the glass to study its features more carefully. In response, it began to crawl forward, hissing loudly, its lips trembling as saliva poured onto the floor.

"Actually, no. Amphibious as it looks, we used the DNA of American alligators. The alligator DNA is injected into a fertilized ovum. A human ovum," he added, answering the wide-eyed look that she responded with. A vicious smile crept onto her at that.

"So this…creature…" She gazed back at it longingly. "In a sense, it's an unborn child. But how? How does the creature survive in that manner?"

"By application of a tying agent. Namely, a virus, capable of mutating the resulting anomaly into a functional creature."

"A virus?" She tapped her lips with her finger lightly, as the "Hunter" on the other side of the glass came right up to the red line, but not a step more. It was shaking with some aggressiveness to it. "What kind of virus?"

Wesker smiled, and placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder… which she promptly jerked away. "The virus," he said, "that you will learn about soon. But not now. I want to show you the full potential of this facility and its research. Come with me."

He led her away from the giant tank, and she gave a half-hearted wave of goodbye to the creature, who followed them along the sides of the tank, now growling loudly. It sounded like a yelping, and it made the hairs upon her neck stand on end.

The corridor beyond the chamber was metallic and mirrored, and as they walked its length, light blue gases spewed out from a ceiling ventilation, raining sterilization down upon them both.

"Biological organic weapons are only primitive in their current developmental stages," Wesker told her, as they entered a new chamber: this one smelled awful, like a kennel at a shelter. "The reason that Stephen was isolated is that his aggressiveness was anti-social in nature. He used to be in a pin with five others. He killed them all, and savagely at that. The others… are more tuned to their own kind, a pack of beneficials to one another. Stephen was no such thing…"

"I admire him for it," Pamela noted, examining the room around her. "Pack mentality is a liability."

The chamber was smaller than the previous one, but sizable enough to allow for a room tall shelf of large, metal kennels. Inside several of these kennels were animals of great variety: sleeping goats, meowing Tabbies and cougars, barking Doberman pinschers and Rottweiler's, bleeting sheep and whining foxes…

"Test subjects," Wesker told her, "for the virus."

"All of these animals are going to be injected, then?"

"All of them. In particular, we've found success with the Dobermans. Behold…" He motioned behind them, and she turned to see a wall at the back of the room sliding upward, revealing another glass enclosure. Inside of this much larger entrapment (it extended deep into the enclave) were four of the Dobermans, all resting comfortably upon large mats near their side of the glass. One of them sleepily raised its head to acknowledge them, but simply yawned and rested its head once more. Whatever this virus was, it had given these dogs a strange color scheme, their black fur matted with portions of red… and then she realized that the red portions were not fur, but rather-

"Tissue… their skin… Why is there skin falling off?"

Wesker sighed. "An unfortunate side effect of the virus. But their aggression and durability far exceeds their negative impacts. They're fast and efficient hunters. What they lack for in the kind of durability you would find in, say, a Hunter, they make up for in their agility."

Pamela read the sign above the enclosure: **MA-39 "Cerberus." **

"You've named it after mythology," she analyzed. Wesker nodded.

"Their pack mentality is also a way of life. These creatures are efficient in bringing down a pack of prey when working together. Let me show you." He walked over to a control panel set beside the cage, and flipped open a metallic lid labelled **Feeding Control**. Three buttons, each one differently colored and labelled, were on the other side. The first button **OPEN**, the second **ALARM**, and the third **CLOSE. **Wesker lightly tapped the first button, and at the end of the cage, two small sections of wall slid upward, revealing holes that led into some room beyond. Wesker then hit the second button.

In the distance, a loud yelping sound emitted from the holes, jarring the sleeping Cerberi awake. Their growling intensified as they began to sniff at the air, seeking that which they may devour… And it came. The alarm that Wesker had activated had scared their prey into the cage. A warren of jackrabbits burst into the room, scattering in their desperation to escape the horrid alarm. The Ceberi now acknowledged the incoming creatures with vicious snarls, and immediately set to their food, the four of them sprinting forward and bounding through the air. The rabbits made haste to escape their pursuing prey, but the Cerberi moved quickly, snatching them by their tails and pulling them in, slicing open their rabbits' bellies and digging deep into their entrails. Blood spewed everywhere, and flowed like a river.

All the while, Pamela stood, fascinated and energized, clawing at the glass with a satisfied expression. She was lost in the sight of the carnage, her fascination with the blood flow quite clear. Wesker watched her with an interested expression, noting her fascination with his work as something foreign of late. As they watched the rabbits succumb to demise, a few researchers entered the room from the other side of the chamber.

"Morning, Albert," one of them, a young woman no older than twenty-five, called out, checking out Pamela's ass as he walked over to the cages with a clipboard in hand. "Showing the new girl around?"

"As a matter of fact, you were supposed to have fed these creatures an hour ago, Wilson," Wesker called back to him, looking annoyed. "Where were you?"

"Got a call from the wife," Wilson replied, as he checked each of his assigned cages and scribbled down notes on the animals within. "Had to work out an issue with my stepson at his school. Little shit hit a teacher…"

"Your duties are still relevant, Wilson, no matter the personal issues."

"Yeah, I know… go ahead and submit a report to Birkin. It's my first offense in three months." He turned his back to Wesker and continued his work. Pamela turned around and studied the two men who had come in. Wilson was frail and shaky. His partner, who tag read "Charlie Anders" were heavy and sleepy looking. Anders gave her a small smile and a wave, which she only returned with a cold expression and a look of disgust.

"So how do you like the facility?" Wilson called over to her, checking a paw on one of the Rottweilers. "You show her the assholes, yet?"

"Asshole?" Pamela smiled now, her eyes narrowing. "Do tell…" There was something dark within her smile, and Wesker noticed it at once. Her fingers were doing a strange little dance. She took a step forward. "Tell me about these assholes." She giggled softly, playing with her hair in a very subtle manner…

Wesker grabbed her arm and squeezed it firmly from behind, sending a silent message. The man on the other side of the room looked flabbergasted, and blushed, looking away.

"We'll get to those," Wesker said loudly. "I'm escorting her out. Put these creatures under anesthetic once they've finished eating, Wilson."

"If you say so," Wilson muttered quietly, sneaking a glance around at them as they left. Pamela looked over her shoulder and blew them both a kiss, winking as she was escorted out of the room. As they walked down another isolation corridor, Wesker whispered into her ear, "I will not have you harming the staff. Understand this."

"I just want control," Pamela sighed, head bent, a mad grin on her face. "Give me some control and I'll be fine…"

"You'll do as you're told. Do you understand what I am saying?"

_Do I?_

"Do you understand what I am saying?" Dr. Woodrue asked the assembled class as he mixed a vial of OC-322 with Yellow Bajorn-59. The resulting effect was a strong cloud of green smoke, foul smelling and bubbly. Everyone watched with fascination, particularly Pamela, who jotted down notes furiously as he progressed through the lesson on exterior hardening for cellular walls. "You _cannot_ legally home-base these chemicals in the manner that I am displaying before you. These chemicals are highly irradiated in the wrong dosages. That is why, as your instructor, I have taken it upon myself to show you the real deal. Now, can anyone tell me why cell division occurs more rapidly in an undeveloped ovum than in a developed one?"

"Because," Pamela said automatically, without looking up, "the undeveloped ovum is threatened by exterior parasites, thus the bodily reaction for more rapid division, allowing a better revitalization period that-"

"-Sure, if you want to believe that," Woodrue cut across her. "-but exterior parasites are key in growth. When the body is destroyed, the distribution of itself impacts a system of life through nourishment. Death, in key, is a seed to greater life."

He walked about the room and settled himself on a chair before the front row…right in front of Pamela. It was her who held his attention. She flushed red.

"Plants are an essential part of this destructive process," he said. "Endangered by the actions of humans who destroy them, they adapt to harsh conditions. Why do you always see them breaking through concrete? Their resilience is birthed entirely by the attacks from exterior parasites. And in adapting, they become stronger and stronger."

Now Pamela was smiling. "So you see, Miss Isley," Woodrue continued, "plants need to be attacked, so that they can realize their full strength and retaliate with adaption, and overcoming, of the natural world and the exterior parasites."

Pamela had never thought about it like that before, but Woodrue's words rang strong, and they rang true. Death was always the first step to greater becoming, and as such required an acknowledgment of fate to prepare. The lesson progressed as it should have, with a deep theoretical analysis of enhanced cellular walls and the effects on the plant membranes… basic with a deeper meaning… a philosophical meaning….

The class itself sat divided by Woodrue's passion. For some, it was art. Others, it was a waste. These latter people were stupid, and needed to die. For Woodrue's words, his teachings, she deemed them worthy and thus noted his necessity. He understood plants as plants must be understood, and she would have to use him…

When the class ended, the room was filled with the foul-smelling vapor and many students retreated in haste. Pamela herself needed to return home. She needed to check in on dear, dear Alissa…

"Miss Isley?"

She jumped when he said her false name, and looked around, wide-eyed. Woodrue was capping the steaming vial of gas (non-lethal at his dosage) and regarding her with a curious smile. "Do you have a class after this?"

"No. This is the last one for the day…"

"Good. Good. Then walk with me." It was not a request, but a demand shrouded in honey. She stood her ground.

"Why the hell would I do that?" she mumbled, one foot out the door already. Woodrue grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. The room was steamy.

"Because I need to discuss your work in my class, that's why. Come on, now." He motioned for her to follow him to the other side of the room. There was an exit door here leading to the outside, into a garden-based parking lot for the biology building. Pamela followed suit, frowning, feeling off about those words. Her work? What was wrong with her work!?

"Problem with my intellect?" she demanded as they crossed over into the cool afternoon, the wind blowing heavily around them. Rain was coming soon.

"As a matter of fact, no," Woodrue said softly, and he looked at her with kind eyes. "More, with the lack of intellect on your peers' behalf."

"Comparison?"

"You could say that. I'm a teacher, Miss Isley. A damn good one, too, who doesn't follow the bullshit regulations of proper instructor etiquette. I play favorites and I'm not afraid to admit that, compared to you, everyone else is a short side of inferior genes. You're the only one who seems to have… the passion."

"Call it an obsession," Pamela replied calmly, walking a little ahead of him as they circled around the lot and in the direction of the woods, near her house. "If we're being honest."

"An obsession? And you consider it that way, truly?"

"Lovingly so," Pamela whispered, pausing before a low-hanging tree and tenderly stroking a blooming pink rose. She could see these things from her window each morning, and they always inspired within her work for the sake of Mother Earth. "I consider myself their servant."

"Is that right?" Woodrue laid himself across the grass and studied her closely for a moment, before turning his gaze to the darkening sky. "I see. Tell me, Pamela, when did this obsession begin?"

"Ivy," she corrected him promptly, finally having enough of the ignorance. "My name is Ivy."

"Ivy?" He considered her, amused. "Alright, then: Ivy. When did you realize you loved these children of the earth?"

Pamela saw a genuine desire to know within that smile. Everything about him, from facial expression to his comforted seating, implied that he was sincere. Thus, she sat down beside him and too laid back to gaze at the sky.

"From childhood," she said softly. "They used to be my only friends."

"Used to? So you have friends, then, beyond them?"

"A few. Maybe. I never really can tell anymore. There are passerby and the like who forget me in time… or I forget them. No true commitment…" She glanced at him. "You have any friends, Dr. Woodrue?"

"Jason," he corrected her, smirking. "My name is Jason."

"Hardee har har," she mocked. "Well?"

"Plenty. The roses in the fields, the grass beneath my feet. I feel them speak to me at times. They give me comfort, and they assure me that my chosen path was the correct one." He glanced back at her. "Human friends? Sure. Empty faces and sexual gratifiers when the need arises. Humans are tools, Ivy. Don't you think?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Tools?" Inside, her heart was beating. What was it about this man? What was it about his words and the way he looked at her?

"I'm no fool, Ivy. I see it behind your eyes. I've seen it for the past two weeks now. You've lost something valuable, a human tool needed for some emotional triumph. Your friend, Alissa…"

Ivy's heart jerked hard. _What did he know!? WHAT DID HE KNOW!? _

"I heard about the poor girl's disappearance. And I heard the police gave you a hard time, demanding any information you could give. You two were close, weren't you? It must be hard, not knowing where she's gone off to…" He began to study the formations of the clouds. "…especially in this city. Gotham City, where it's not normal unless ten murders are committed a day, and abductions are as common as sneezing. It hurts you. I know it. I can see it."

"I… I think… I don't know…" Her voice quivered. And it quivered without her actually acknowledging that a fake was needed. So… then her voice was _really_ quivering! But why!? This effect that he had on her…

"And then, of course, I heard about the things you went through before school. Your family, and the trouble you endured at the hands of your peers. As I understand it, Dr. Stefan Mimaste was once assigned to you, correct?"

"You…know him?" Now her voice was shaking. As was the rest of her body. This man unnerved her… and she could not for the life of her pinpoint _why_. Woodrue shrugged.

"Had to work with him briefly," said Woodrue, "a few years back. Got into a little stint with the law when I first moved into the area. He's a very well-practiced man, but clueless on the reality of his patients' dilemmas. He sees not the struggle and need for the struggle, but rather a solution to a non-existent problem."

"Agreed," Pamela laughed bitterly, close her eyes into relaxation. "That's why I stopped seeing him. I managed to talk him into releasing me…"

"Really now?" His voice betrayed no hint of a deeper curiosity. "That's very interesting." His smile, she saw when she opened her eyes back up, was very, very curious. "Interesting, interesting… Well, Ivy, it looks like it's going to storm soon. I think for now I'll have to settle with the disappointment of a rain check. No pun intended. Tell me…" He slid over onto his side to face her, and smiled that… just that… _that_ smile… She gazed at that smile and found some kind of hiddenness to it, a secretive invisibility… "Mind joining me for a weekend ride down to Bludhaven? I could use some intelligent conversation during my visit there."

"B-Bludhaven?" Her mind was swirling now. She felt… she felt dizzy. Slightly, but still there. She shook her head. Perhaps it was just hunger. She had not eaten much that day.

"I'm attending a conference there. Wayne Enterprises is unveiling a new energy plan that is going to pose a danger to our friends, Ivy."

"A deforestation?"

"Not exactly. The company is radically excavating an important site for a rare flower in South America. The flower is endangered, and Wayne Enterprises has shown no interest in rectifying this movement?"

"A rare flower?" Her heart tightened. "What kind of flower!?"

"_Isavain moreshade_," Woodrue replied, his face darkening. "Commonly, the 'Mortmaiden flower' or 'Shadowmania.' A very poisonous plant, and an essential one to the system of life within this particular South American sector. I've assembled a team to protest this movement and negotiate a rescue with Bruce Wayne. You've impressed me with your passion, Ivy, and I feel you deserve to be a part of it. Interested?"

"Very," Pamela sighed, blushing fiercely. "I… I don't have much experience in the way of protesting, though… I'm more of a hands on person."

"What kind of hands on person?" Woodrue asked, intrigued, his eyes shining as the first fall of rain began. Pamela grinned darkly.

"I like to hurt people," she whispered. And then she stopped herself, because she realized what she had said all too late. Her face shrunk, her heart leaping. Woodrue, however… he smiled that smile again! She felt her soul diminish.

"Hurt people?" Even though the rain began to pour down upon them, positively drenching their clothes, hair and bags, neither of them seemed to notice the water in that moment. "How so?" He was fascinated by this. A true scientist fascinated!

Pamela, feeling more comfortable now and grinning narrow eyed at this odd man, looked around awkwardly and said, "Sometimes I beat on people who don't respect the earth…"

"What else do you do, Pamela?"

"Oh, no. You lose, Jason. My name is Ivy, remember?"

"I- of course." He bowed his head to her. "Well, about tomorrow, then? I can try again on the car ride."

"It's a deal."

They both shook hands, and Woodrue began his journey away, leaving her sitting there, watching the man leave with such… newfound spirit. The man had been confident and sincere throughout the entire thing, and judgment? None at all… When he had vanished up a hill, the rain-soaked Pamela Isley finally found her legging again and she bound off for home, grinning the entire way there. She grinned as she burst through the door, as she bound through the living room, and promptly leapt upon her bed in joy, crying out happily and punching the air. On the bedside table, Archie's preserved, severed head watched her joy and excitement implode interior and exterior movements as she offered sweet, silent prayers to Mother Earth, worshiping her and thanking her for introducing yet another Essential for Ascension. This man had given her a feeling since the first day she had met him, and she now knew why: this man was going to play a part, and she had to prepare for him a place.

"I've done it, Archie," Pamela whispered to the severed head. "I'm assembling a team."

Now, she had to go see the other.

Downstairs, in the dark basement, the shadow moved around in the corner, whimpering and sobbing. Pamela switched on the lights at once, flooding illumination, and the create in the corner of the basement screamed, shielding her eyes at once, the chains around her arms shaking ghostly and loud.

"Bright, bright, too bright!" the starved, bruised, pale creature sobbed into the floor, desperately trying as hard as she could to keep her eyes covered from the lights. Pamela ignored the screaming and came to visit with the thing, sitting upon the floor and trying to force the hands away. The filthy, anorexic nightmares struggled against her, whimpering loudly. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Come on, now, Lissa," Pamela said in irritation, forcing the hands apart. The creature held its eyes firmly shut, the light so painful to behold. "You have to acknowledge the sun. You cannot grow if you do not bask."

"Please… the dark, the dark… need the dark…" Alissa Jagner no longer existed. In her place, the most terrible creature, inhuman. Skin sagged off the bone. Cuts and bruises decorated her limbs. Her smell was beyond foul. Pamela checked her newspaper, and found little pellets there, and little stains of piss. The animal had not eaten much in the last few days. Pamela sighed.

"Why won't you eat, Alissa?" she whispered, her heart breaking. "All I want for you is for you to get better."

"Away, away, away!" Alissa snapped, her teeth gritted. "Go away, go! Go, go, go, go! Turn the light off! Turn the light off!"

"Alissa, I have something to tell you!" Pamela said loudly over the muttering lunatic. "I'm going to be leaving tomorrow, so you'll be by yourself okay. Down here. In the dark. Are you going to be okay with that?"

"Away, away," Alissa sobbed frantically, shaking madly, "please, away, go away, go away, go away…"

"I'm going to Bludhaven," Pamela continued onward, "with a new professor friend. Alright? There's no telling when I'll be coming back. I have… things that have to be done there, it seems. I can make a difference, Alissa. I know I can. All I need for you do is hold onto the hope that I will succeed, and our Ascension will be clear. Understand this, alright?"

"Kill me!" Alissa hissed, her eyes snapping open in rage. She lunged for Pamela, who easily slid backwards, smiling softly, and sadly.

"Don't worry, Alissa… you'll soon understand. I swear it. I'm going to leave you some food, alright? Some good food, this time. I know you don't like the dog food much… I'll find something better. Just… just give me time, alright?" Tears were trickling down her face, and she turned to leave the room. "I… I know I can do the right thing for us both… I can save the world, Alissa… I can save the world…"


	17. Chapter 17

The black Equus limo pulled into the parking garage silently enough, its lights dim and its engine silent as the grave. The lot was abandoned of other vehicles, and so the Equus pulled into the very center, keeping the lights running. Inside, the driver flicked a switch on the radio, and said aloud, "We're here, ma'am."

"Very good," a voice replied from the back. A refined, Cockney accent it was, as if from a right and proper London girl. Lights flickered on all around the back and front seats, and the driver typed a message into a nearby laptop. An email:

**To: knockknock97220**

** CC: **

** Subject: Arrival **

** We've arrived at Lot 33. We're awaiting you now. You have one hour of her time. Don't waste it. Black Equus, alone. Bring no more than three representatives with you, and Floronic. **

** She will expect payment up front.**

** Hurry,**

** Manhattan **

Manhattan the driver sent the email, and closed the laptop, sighing.

"Permission for a drink outside?"

"Not yet," the voice in the back replied quietly. "Let us observe the intentions of this young man first."

"Young man?" Manhattan glanced into the mirror. There was indeed a dark silhouette approaching, a tall one. It was a man, true, and he seemed to be moving quickly in on the car. Immediately, Manhattan went for his pistol. "I'll handle it."

"No, no," the woman said calmly. "Let him come."

Sweat ran down Manhattan's brow, and he bit his lip. "Ma'am?"

"Observe him, sweetheart. Observe him and let him make the first move."

"A-alright," Manhattan said, putting the gun down beside him in the dark. "What if he opens your door?"

As if in response, the back door was wrenched open. Right on cue. Outside, a man in a dirty trench coat stood before the backseat, a long switchblade in hand. The man was heavily bearded, he smelled like piss and his eyes stared into the backseat with a deranged hunger.

"I knew I smelled a rich prick," he hissed into the shadows, looking the woman there up and down. The woman regarded him as one would an ant on the windowsill, betraying a hint of only the most miniscule curiosity. "You people never l-learn, d-do you!? You don't f-f-f-f-fucking c-come into this part of town with your f-fancy cars! You get… you get relieved of t-things!"

The woman titled her head. "Really?" she whispered, excited. "How so?"

He leaned forward, and placed his knife against her vulnerable neck, giggling madly. "I'll cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut," he said rapidly, his hands shaking as he held the blade against her skin. The woman closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply, smiling.

"You do know how to treat a woman, don't you?" she whispered, and she placed her fingertips around the blade. To the man's shock, she actually positioned the knife higher up. "But you see, if you place the knife here, you can get an easier cut, love. The cartilage won't resist you as much. However, this switchblade is dull. I can feel the enclaves in it. Here."

She reached into her pocket, as the stunned man stared on, wide-eyed and confused. She had pulled out a new knife: this one was a metallic buck knife, and it gleamed in the light of the surrounding console. The knife in the man's hand vanished at once, and she forced this new knife into his open palm. He stood frozen to the spot. He had not registered how… how quickly he had been disarmed. In one moment, he had been holding his own blade. In the next, it had been replaced by this new weapon. She helped him position the new blade once more at a vulnerable spot on her neck, and glanced up at him from behind the dark sunshades that she wore, even in this dark building on this dark night.

"Now, love," she said, ever so calmly, "cut me."

"Ma'am?" Manhattan was shaking in the front. She raised a hand to shush him, not taking her eyes off of the druggie. The druggie could only stare, unsure of what to do. Surreal had become his word. Every breath was incorrect of logic.

"Cut me," she suggested simply, tapping her fingers impatiently. "Slit my throat."

"You…you're crazy!" the druggie hissed, wild-eyed. "Crazy, crazy, crazy… you're insane."

"No, no, love, come now… you're doing alright. Cut me. Don't hold back." She titled her head back, so that he had better vision on his prey. "Just slice, right now! Saw! Don't hold back love."

She glanced up at him cheerfully, and for a moment, he saw the red glowing eyes behind those dark lenses. Saw the confident smile upon the red painted lips. Her short black bob style hair gleamed blue under the light of the interior consoles, giving only the faintest reminder of something…human. Those red eyes flickered again, and he gave a cry, stumbling backwards onto the ground, pointing the knife at her as if it were his index.

"Creature!" he hissed wildly. "D-d-d-demon!"

She now climbed out of the car, and stood above him. He clambered quickly to his feet, holding the knife before him protectively. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt, a blouse crimson and frilly, her heels short and sleek. In every way, she was dressed like a proper businesswoman. Save for those sunshades. She lowered the shades, so that he could see her eyes in the dark. Oh, how they glowed red-orange. How they burned with some fierce fire within.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked him quietly. "Nervous? Don't be. Action has to override anxiety. It is a rule of life."

"Stay back, demon!" the druggie exclaimed, and he bolted, running with all haste away from the woman and her car. She watched him sprint with relative calm, sighing and she closed her eyes for a moment, smiling. Then, one leg after another struck out, her heeled shoes flying away, and she was off. Her speed was inhuman, lightning-like and divine, the world becoming a blur as she practically soared through the air, the coldness of the blasting wind around her poetic.

The man went down at once, forced into the concrete at her fierce touch, and she pinned him there with a knee, placing either of her hands on either side of his head.

"Darwin, love," she whispered, and in the next moment, a blast of orange lit the parking garage as the man's head was set aflame. The fire quickly spread down, and the woman gently swiped her knife up as she left him there, burning to death, cinders his only destiny now. She calmly closed the buck knife, pocketing it as she went to retrieve her shoes. By the time she returned to the car, Manhattan was standing outside of his door, holding up a silver flask, his expression asking her a silent question. She gave him a thumbs up, and Manhattan sighed with relief as he downed the chilled Daniels within.

Back in the car, the woman laid across the seat and typed into the middle computer terminal there, her fingers dancing happily across the fiberglass board. Video screens dotted all over the monitor, showing different parts of the downtown area. Street light hang-ups, party goers and their sinful clubs, drug deals in dark alleyways and break-ins at the Upper East Condominiums near Bradford Square…

She tapped a finger on one of them, and it maximized to full screen. A silent car was driving into the garage at the base. A long black limousine, longer than the one she drove in. Naturally, the idiot had chosen the least subtle car imaginable for the meeting.

Sighing, irritated, she went outside to stand with Manhattan, asking him for some refreshment. He all too happily provided her with a second flask. It was standard for Manhattan to have two on him at all times.

"Thank you love," she said, leaning against the car and watching the burning druggie in the distance. "Let's hope this doesn't take too long. I want to get the penthouse arrangements settled before midnight."

"The man had better be there," Manhattan said darkly, "after the generous deposit."

Suddenly, at the end of the lot, headlights beamed as the limo approached, swerving around the burning carcass violently as it did. The woman smiled. That druggie could not have chosen a better time to try and mug her. He would serve as a physical example to those who did not hold up the ends of their deals.

The limo came to a halt nearby, and even as the doors opened, the lights stayed on, providing enough illumination for this meeting to commence without difficulty. Four individuals clambered out of the back, and moved into the light, one of them positively bobbing up and down excitedly.

"Well, well, well," the man before her said in a jolly voice, "the British bitch with the silly haircut. You know I saved several pictures of you from the Internet!? You're so fun to look at!" He giggled excitedly, dancing about with another figure in the shadows. The woman watched them both with annoyance. The both of them were clowns. One with green hair, the other blonde, but both of them with white skin and luscious red lips, twisted into insane smiles. Of course, it was no news to her of the existence of the Joker, or his girlfriend: both had been making their international fame for years now. Nevertheless, meeting these miscreants gave a certain aftertaste of cigar to her. That was her first impression of the clowns (and a lasting one).

"But Mr. J only touches one gal, sister!" Harleen Quinzel cooed, stroking her boyfriend's green hair with affection. "So hands where I can see em, eh!?" Quinzel. Once a GCU graduate with a Masters in psychology, the woman knew her to have been an intern at Arkham Asylum, where she had developed a swift obsession with the Joker, a patient on her duty list. She had helped him break out, and had joined him in his chaotic extracurricular activities. And always that voice… it sounded just as annoying here as it did in all of the newscasts.

"Anassa Blackwood," she offered, holding out a hand to the Joker. Instead of taking it, the Joker grinned and jerked his head behind him.

"Barbeque for us?"

"Yeah, what's up with that burning man over there?" Quinn piped up. "Just seems kind of random, that's all."

"A mugger," Anassa offered confidently, bowing before them, "who thought, unwisely, to steal from me. I am not one for being stolen from."

"Oh… okay!" Quinn squeaked, giving her a thumbs up. "You see that, Mr. J.? She's cool, just like us!"

The Joker nodded, finally grasping Anassa's hand. "We're all cool kids, aren't we?" he said softly, giggling at nothing in general. "Well, Miss An ass uh, we're men and women and sometimes mimes and car washers of our word. We've brought you a nice little present from Freakville." He spun around and threw his arms out to the shadows. "Ta-daaaaaa!"

And the other two individuals who had gotten out of the limo with them stepped into the light. Albert Wesker stayed behind Jason Woodrue, who had compressed himself to a shorter height for the car ride here, but now stretched out into a towering figure above them. Anassa walked forward, amazed at what she beheld. The moss hair, the bark skin, the glowing eyes…

"Jason Woodrue, I presume?"

"_THE VERY SAME." _Woodrue stepped forward and held out his brambly hand, spilling little pink roses onto her. She chuckled softly, taking the brush and tenderly stroking the petals of the flowers.

"You're very beautiful," she told him. "A true example of Ascension. Behold, Mr. Joker: this is the face of a true example of divinity." She regarded the clowns with a smirk. "Examples of Ascension beyond your understanding."

"He's a talking tree," Joker replied shortly, snorting. "Divine? Maybe to the kingdom of Squirrels, but dear… I sense an insult in there. HA!" He reached into his jacket, and immediately was brandishing a pistol in hand. Anassa moved fast. Her arm turned into a blur as a revolver seemed to just appear in her grip, aimed right at the head of the clown. Behind Woodrue, Wesker shook his head, pulling out his own weapon just as quickly.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Quinn snapped, standing in front of the Joker and breathing down Anassa's barrel. "Don't point your gun at my pudding, Miss Black Eyes… you know… you get it, because if you do, I'll-"

_FFOMPH! _Quinn went face first into Anassa's car, the Joker giggling madly as he held her in place, seeming as if he wanted to slam her into the vehicle again.

"Harley… how many times," he whispered in a deadly voice, "have I told you not to explain the joke when you make it? And it wasn't even funny. I'm ashamed, Harley."

"S-sorry, Mr. J…" Quinn whined, sniffling loudly.

"When I told you that you could come along," the Joker hissed into her ear, "I expected you to represent the organization efficiently, my dear."

"Yes, M- Mr. J…"

"So do so!" the Joker giggled, and he aimed his pistol at her boot. The round that popped off was explosive in the tightly packed parking garage, and Quinn's scream did not help matters. She fell to the ground in pain, sporting her shot foot, and the Joker gleefully exploded into a bout of laughter, sliding against the car and happily singing his mirth.

"_CAN WE PROCEED WITH THE BUSINESS AT HAND_?" Woodrue sounded agitated. He was looking down at the clowns in disgust. Wesker nodded, paled by his annoyance, and Anassa felt a fiery desire to bullet them both in the head, putting them out of everyone's misery. But she put the gun away and gestured at Woodrue and Wesker to follow her away from the shrieking clowns.

"Is he not here to discuss business?" Anassa asked Woodrue, leaning against the wall and eyeing the hysterical lunatic coldly.

"In truth, he only wanted to observe his new client," Wesker said promptly, " to see if you matched qualifications for his organization."

"Perhaps when I go braindead, love," Anassa hissed. She held out a hand. "Anassa Blackwood, CEO of Windstar Operations."

"W," Wesker returned, shaking her hand firmly. "Dr. W. I am assistant to Dr. Woodrue and will be your contact throughout the transactions and operations during your stay in Gotham City. This is Mr. Woodrue, as you've discovered."

"_DOES WHAT YOU SEE IMPRESS YOU, MISS BLACKWOOD?" _

"Very much," Anassa admitted, stunned by the beauty of the creature before her. "I've worked in botanical mutagens for years and I've never seen a compatible specimen like you. Assimilated, but pure in mental capabilities. You speak, you think, you act. You're not… you're not an animal. I must admit, Dr. Woodrue, that when your assistant first contacted me about your metamorphosis, I was skeptical about your chances for mental preservation."

"_AND WHY IS THAT?" _Woodrue challenged her. _"SCIENCE HAS GIVEN ME THIS FORM. YOU, AS A FELLOW SCIENTIST, SHOULD HAVE RESPECT AND CONFIDENCE FOR THE MUTAGENS. YOU SEE BEFORE YOU THE EFFORTS OF YEARS OF COUNTLESS TRIAL AND ERROR, PERFECTING A FORMULA CAPABLE OF IMMORTALITY IN ITS OWN RIGHT, DR. BLACKWOOD." _

"And naturally, just like that, I'm already invested in working alongside you. But I must ask: is she around? The car, perhaps?"

"No," said Wesker. "Lasetta is still too dangerous to be around the general public, but we've prepared a meeting for you. Dr. Woodrue has had her moved into a containment facility on the outskirts of town. I am more than willing to drive you out to it while your employee manages… hotel arrangments?" He titled his head slightly. Anassa smiled.

"We have things arranged. I'd like to see the facility, Dr. Woodrue. Ever since I was informed by your assistant here about your transformation and your success with Lasetta, I've been adamant about joining your research team. I've brought the necessary payments, too. Manhattan."

Manhattan nodded, and walked around the car to open the trunk. As he went by, the Joker finally stood to his feet and began to walk towards the assembled group, leaving his girlfriend upon the ground in a trembling mess. Anassa turned to him at once.

"She's in pain," she pointed out to him at once, "and in need of medical services. Go back to her now. You serve no purpose here."

"I came," the Joker seethed, giggling, "to make sure my investments are being handled accordingly."

Anassa titled her head. "Accordingly?" Her smile was honey; her aura was venom. She took a step forward, eyes narrowed as she keep her grin up. "Handled in what way?"

"The right one, m'dear. The correct, no bullshit here or there right one. I need to know that my money is being given the VIP treatment. So, if you don't mind… show-me-the-goods."

Anassa stopped before the Joker and looked up into his mad, bright green eyes. Calmly, she exhaled a breath, and placed her index finger against his forehead, tip to skin.

"Mr… J?" she said sweetly.

"British bitch?" he returned happily.

She prodded. The Joker went flying backwards, crying out in pain as he crumpled upon the ground, the force of her poke inhuman. He flipped again and again, instinctively letting out a 'hee' and 'ha.' He rolled over next to his girlfriend, who threw her arms out in concern, throwing aside her own painful acknowledgment for his. Anassa studied them closely. _Even though he shot her in the foot… she still goes for him. The girl deserves better, that's for sure. _

"Mr. J!? Mr. J, are you alright!?" Quinn cried, hands shaking.

Manhattan was smirking when he returned. "He's going to be fine, the clown?" he asked his boss as he came to a stop before her, a briefcase in hand.

"Unfortunately, he'll live," Anassa replied casually as she took the case from him. Woodrue was grinning widely, Wesker simply nodding.

"_YOU'RE VERY DIRECT. I ADMIRE YOU FOR IT, THOUGH THE CLOWN NEEDS SPECIAL CARE. WHATEVER THIS…STRENGTH OF YOURS IS… IT PERPLEXES ME, IN A FINE WAY, MISS BLACKWOOD. I MUST ASK YOU NOT TO KILL MY PARTNER, HOWEVER. THE CLOWN HAS HIS USES."_

"As I said, he'll live." She held the case before Woodrue and Wesker, and opened it slowly. A ray of green light suddenly shot out of it, and they beheld vials within, ten of them, all glowing with a radioactive green fire. Each were marked **LV-AB. **"I present to you the Leviathan virus. These ten dosages have fierce potency, and I will be more than happy to demonstrate their capabilities… once I've seen Lasetta."

"These are the viruses you mentioned in the photographs?" Wesker challenged, placing his fingertips upon the ends of his left lens. Not a sound issued, but he was taking photographs at five per second, zooming in on the labels and noting each one individually. The photos were sent back to the facility as he took them, stored away on his private terminal.

"The very same. And I assure you, they'll work. I've even brought some volunteers."

"_VOLUNTEERS?"_ Woodrue sounded intrigued. "_I WOULD LIKE TO MEET THEM. LASETTA CAN BE…SHOWN OFF AS WELL."_

"Very well. Mr. Wesker, if you'll accompany me, please. I'll have him show me the way," she added to Woodrue, "while we finalize the details. Have the specimen waiting for me, will you, Dr. Woodrue."

"We won't be long," Wesker assured him. "I'll ensure that our guest is sincere before she enters the facility."

"_DON'T TAKE TOO LONG, W. I'LL NEED YOU CLOSE FOR THE PRESENTATION."_

Woodrue gestured at the Joker, who was leaning against Anassa's car, sporting a horrid, bleeding head. He shot a dark, fierce glance at Anassa, who gave him a wink and a small wave, before the clown promptly grabbed Quinn up and started to drag her towards their limo.

"I'm investing a lot in your little scheme, Blackwood," he called back to Anassa as they reached the car. "I expect results…"

"You sound so serious," Anassa observed, smirking. "Not like you, is it?"

The Joker slammed the door behind him, after pushing Quinn in, and knocked loudly on the passenger door. When the window came down, he said loudly, "I'm off for a trot. I'll be there to see your little show and tell. But I need to go shoot an old woman. Any old woman will do…" he muttered, pulling out his gun as he began to walk away, alone, into the darkness of the exit. Anassa was satisfied. She had only been in Gotham City for two hours, and already she had put its greatest psychopath in his place. The limo gradually pulled away into the night, and soon, only Anassa and Wesker remained, with Manhattan waiting in the car for them both.

They turned to one another, silent for a moment, considering each other through their sunshades.

"It's nice to see you again…" she began.

"Too long…" he returned. He raised a simple hand, and gestured only once with a finger.

That was when they embraced. That was when they clashed, hand in hand, lip on lip, and cascaded onto the concrete, putting a slight crater into it as they landed. Passion needs no words, however. This was a moment of purest isolation, in purest form.

"It's been….too long…." Anassa gasped.

"It took you long enough to get here… My ace in the hole."

Manhattan disregarded their passion. He had expected it to occur, once Anassa Wesker…to others, Anassa Blackwood… had finally returned into the arms of Albert. It really had been too long, and Anassa had warned him that she may dissolve into her greater desires, once the man had stepped into her life again.

And that was fine with him. Whatever made her happy was good enough for him, even if that happiness included someone as unhealthy as Albert Wesker…


	18. Chapter 18

Pamela sat gazing over the massive tank before her, watching the water shutter violently as the two ton bull shark within ("the Neptune," as Wesker had put it before taking off for the night) thrashed about, snapping at the reinforced glass lid of its grand prison. The creature moved with its own grace, its own form. It held no master: it itself was the master of its operations and beyond. Within that tank, it was merely an abductee, not a slave, and defied its mutilators with stubborn refusal against when they wanted it to eat, what it would eat and whether pacification jolts would apply to its rest.

It was king. It was lord.

She was a queen. She was a goddess. She was a mere abductee, but not a slave to Wesker. And she would show him that, in time. His parting words had been, "Business has come up. I'm going to have to leave for the night, but I'll return in the morning. We can discuss your future at this corporation.

_Who did he think he was kidding? _She was a master manipulator, and a romantic in nature. She was no fool. A business meeting did not require Elderwood #94, a potent mixture of lavender and honeysuckle. A business meeting did not call for as much care as had been put into his hidden corsage (Fireberry rose), or his overly confident stride, which had all been not existed until that point. She knew the look of a man who was going to rendezvous with a woman. She had seduced many victims who had displayed such prominent rituals. They had all died smelling of intensified hormones and flowers. The scent of desire. The scent that Wesker had left with.

With Woodrue's mutations had come many benefits: enhanced sensory was one of them. Subtle detections of biological signals enabled her to know many things.

_The man clearly has no social life. You saw the way he struts about the place, Pamela. You saw how…religious he was about his position. He needs a woman in his life. _

Sure he did. Of course he did. But _she_ was his guest… and she had needs. She glanced up. A scrawny little man in a lab coat was working on the other side of the chamber, recording data on the filtration system of the shark tank. His back was to her. How vulnerable he was. She could move quietly. Her arms would be entwined around his neck in seconds, vines that they were. Her lips would kill him stone dead in even less seconds, crippling his organs from within…

But she could not. She had all the power in the world, and she could not use it, because Wesker wanted to use her against Woodrue. He wanted to give her opportunities, but if she harmed any of his staff…

_Harmed is the key word, Pamela. Seduction is its own entity. Suggestion is another. _

But did she want to kill? Did she need to kill? Stuck here, she could not do Mother Earth's work. She could not act as Nature's bounty hunter, not here. And what of Alissa? Was she dead? How was Pamela to know if Alissa was fulfilling the will of the earth…? She needed to get Wesker talking, and soon. Then, she could kill him once she had the information that she needed. She would slaughter everyone here, including…

_Him…_

Through a door behind her fantasy victim came a newcomer: Bruce Wayne. When he came through the door, he saw Pamela sitting near the shark tank, and a dark expression came upon him at once. The time for confrontation had come, she sensed.

Bruce began his venture, and she hers, stepping lightly but confidently. A single raise of an arm and a smile to go along with it.

"Bruce Wayne… did you come looking just for me?" she whispered passionately, in her most seductive draw. She knew she would have little influence over him in her current state… but accidents happen.

He stood before her, glaring uncomfortably. Then, taking a seat upon the floor, he said softly, "Let's talk."

"Let's," Pamela agreed, shifting around to face him. She tapped her lips lightly, smiling, and said softly, "Batman."

"Poison Ivy." Bruce nodded. "Are you allowed to disclose the details? What you and W were talking about?"

"Who is to say, Bruce…?" She stretched across the floor, sprawl-legged and gazing longingly at him. "If I decide to tell you what we talked about, it will be on my own terms, not his."

"He's filling your head with deception," Bruce said at once. "Lies, Pamela. He's promised you something big. It's why you're still around. This man is a researcher of…something unethical. I've seen the creatures, Isley."

"Ivy."

"And furthermore," Bruce continued, firmly, "I'm going to need your help in escaping. He's taken to you. I believe he can be deceived if by the right people. Namely, you."

"Sounds fun," Pamela laughed, prodding the baby leaves that were freshly sprouting from her wrists. They had begun to grow that afternoon, at last, in place of the ones she had lost during Joker and Woodrue's assault on the greenhouse. Wesker had taken such interest in her biology… "I intend to escape, Bruce Wayne. But not with you, and certainly not without compensation for my false imprisonment."

"False imprisonment? Is that what you think this is, Isley?"

"_Ivy!"_ Pamela snapped, her eye twitching. "Stop calling me by-"

"Listen to me…" Bruce's voice was cold and deadly. "I will hunt you. If you escape this facility without me, I will hunt you down. I will make it my life's work to do so. I swear that to you. You're going to be returned to Gotham, to face justice for your crimes. I'm sure the courts will agree that Arkham is suitable for someone like you… and I can help with that. I have influence. But if you try to escape without me… if you try to resist my attempts to return you to Gotham… you will know hell."

"All of you big, strong men kidnapping defenseless old me… I'm touched." She snickered and blew him a kiss. "You just can't keep your hands off of me… can you, Bruce? Escape, with you? Sounds like you're a hoarder, that you want me all to yourself." She winked. "I admire that in a man. I admire initiative." She tenderly began to stroke her leg.

Bruce averted his eyes at once, catching onto her game quickly. "I'm prepared to offer you an easier time on the surface. I'm prepared to help you find a place. If it's in Arkham, so be it, but it will be a place nonetheless. Habitable and ethical. I offer you an easier time with cooperation than you would get without it. How many lives have you taken, Ivy? How many families have you destroyed? The people of Gotham will be very unforgiving…"

"I imagine so. I imagine the human population feels contempt for their lost souls, for their pruned weeds. But do I regret it? Do I fear their wrath? No. I relish in it." She pulled at the waistline of her pants lightly. "I relish in my accomplishments. I feel Mother's love when I acknowledge that we near New Eden, one day after another. New Eden is essential to the Earth. And you…" She exhaled deeply. "…you, Batman, should understand that. Bruce Wayne, a billionaire dedicated to the eradication of injustice. Someone like you should be on my side, fighting for the weak and defenseless, as I do. Yes… plants are weak, compared to human beings. Their strength comes from time, and modern sorcery. That is why I am needed, to defend them…"

"Murder is your way, Pamela Isley, not mine."

Pamela winced again… but she found that he would keep calling her by that false name, and thus, she decided to take her own initiative.

"Murder isn't your way, Bruce? Is it really not? Have you forgotten the first time we actually met?"

"Yes, I remember. I intended you to stay behind bars after-"

"No, no, dear. No. The first time you met Pamela Isley, as you so love to put it, not Poison Ivy. Do you remember that?"

Bruce looked at her, frowning. "No."

"Of course you don't. Someone like me, a radical environmentalist college liberal meant nothing to a god-like being such as billionaire Bruce Wayne. But the first time we truly met each other, Bruce… it was acknowledging that you were a murderer."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you what, Bruce… I offer you a chance. I'll tell you what I mean, if you tell me just _how_ this man, this…W… has kept the Batman, of all souls, under his leash."

Bruce was stunned, his eye twitching. He looked pale and his eyes went away from her. Pamela's heart leapt. She had hit him hard.

"You really want to know, Pamela?"

_STOP CALLING ME THAT. _"Y-yes, I do." She laid on her side, watching him closely. Bruce actually smiled. A soft, sad smile.

"It only makes sense that you know, doesn't it? Because in the end, you'll end up just like me, won't you?"

He turned fully to her now. "Do you see the wristband here? You and I share them. You already know what they are, what they do… but this wristband is not what holds me captive, Ivy. It's something far worse."

"What is that? Tell me… tell me why the Batman serves Dr. W, and I'll remind you of our first meeting."

Bruce nodded. "See for yourself… because soon, you may very well have one of your own." And he pulled down his shirt, to show her his chest. What she saw there mystified her.

There was a device attached to his chest. It looked like some oddly shaped beetle, a central crimson orb-like thing acting as the base. Catheters were attached from the device into Bruce's body, pumping some sort of black chemical into him. Through the transparent crimson sphere, she could see little mechanical bits, cogwheels and mini-pistons, working relentlessly within.

"He calls it P30," Bruce told her, clenching his fist. "Says it's short for Progenitor. This chemical… it's pumping into me continuously. Every time he gives me a command… I'm obligated to follow it through. Once he tells me to do something, I cannot disobey. It is physically impossible. You should be aware of this P30, Ivy… because with your abilities, and your intellect, I imagine he'll do the same to you." He released his shirt, and the device was hidden from sight once more.

Pamela could only continue to stare at the spot on his shirt where, even now, she realized had been slightly bulging the whole time. She gazed back into Bruce's eyes… and then smiled.

"Amazing," she whispered. "He can brainwash you at will?"

Bruce nodded. "This device takes over when he wishes. I don't know how it works. Perhaps he has a remote that injects the chemical in a strong dosage when he needs to control me, and has its base chemical pumped continually into my body, so that I am always ready for an immediate session of control… but every time he gives me a command, I cannot for the life of me disobey. He had me rescue you during Woodrue and Joker's attack… he's had me visit facilities around the country for a year now, demonstrating my effectiveness as a bodyguard and enforcer. These facilities are controlled by the Umbrella Corporation, Ivy. They don't have an interest in the common good. Their experimentations are a danger to the public. But I… I demonstrate pure loyalty to them under the influence of this chemical. I've thrown away my ideals, my oaths… things about myself, gone, instantly. My memories, they're blurry. Every day, I feel like I'm going to lose the past. Maybe I already have. Sometimes I even forget that I am Bruce Wayne, let alone Batman, the scourge of Gotham… I don't even know where this facility is at. All of this…because W has me under his leash, as you say."

"And that's wonderful… for you…" But now Bruce could see genuine fear in her face, as had been his hope. She was suddenly realized the truth in that moment, despite how "wonderful" she wanted it to be… "It's… it's really…" Her voice shook. "But…"

"Face it, Ivy: he'll do the same to you. He'll take away from you your love for plants. He'll make you sacrifice them for the sake of his research. He'll force you to go against everything you believe in, everything you have sworn yourself to. And you will follow him without hesitation. You will obsess over following him. You will obsess over serving every contradictory word he speaks. A brainwashed slave… and eventually, we'll both be disposed of. You can see it in him: he knows. He sees. We serve a purpose… and afterwards, nothing. Tools wear out, in the end."

Pamela turned away from him now. She could no longer summon the willpower to seduce him. She felt…violated somehow. Disgusted. Wesker… what did he intend to do? What did he intend to do to her? Would he really make her into a brainwashed slave, a tool that had no free will of its own, and force her to violate everything that she stood for?

_Would he… would he use me and dispose of me once he was finished? _

"Now, I've told you the truth, Ivy," Bruce said. "What about you? When did we first meet? Talk to me, Ivy. Talk to me and trust me. In this place… all you have is me."

But now she could not speak to him. Not at all. How could she trust him, and how could she feel comfort? There was none to be had. Out of panic, she gasped loudly and leapt up, moving away from him at once. Bruce jumped to his feet, coming after her.

"Ivy! You have to talk to me. You have to trust me!"

"Leave me alone!" Ivy cried, shaking. The researcher on duty in the chamber looked around wildly, watching as Bruce pursued Pamela out to the corridor. "Just leave me alone!"

"All you have in this place is me!" Bruce cried. "All you have is me!"

"Remember," Bruce Wayne said to the assembled crowd, who cheered and cried as he walked onto the stage. "All you have is me. Me, the man who will lead you into revolutionary changes in modern energy, with my company at my side, diligently working to perfect new sources of life not only in South America, but also, in the coming years, right here in America…"

As Wayne prattled on about the new energy source, derived from the corpses of the flora that he would destroy in making, Pamela stood in fury at the back of the crowd, hating them all…wanting to murder them all…

Woodrue stood beside her, shaking his head in disgust, as a large crowd of young men and women behind him waved signs of protest, shouting at the top of their lungs. The Bludhaven police stood close by, looking prepared to step in at the first sign of chaos. As she observed the protesters at their ranks, dedicatedly throwing out foul words, hand motions and spewing off basic facts of science, Pamela felt within her a certain repulsion. These protesters had no clue what they were fighting for. They came dressed in the stereotypical attire of what was expected of environmentalists: sandals and crop tops, flowers and hipster rims, all waving about signs that bellowed in colorful lettering **Save the Trees, Make Wayne Leave (s) **or **Get The Fuck Out Of South America Corporate Swine**… Many more of them would sing songs together, joined hand in hand, about saving the environment or preserving nature from the ruthless hands of the big wigs who would sew their future from the corpses of plants… These people she hated. All of them. Every last stupid protester. She hated them far worse than she did Wayne or the people who were actually threatening the planet, and there was only one reason why: they were useless.

How was a sign with some rough catchphrase going to save the planet?

How was a song of harmony going to make a difference?

These people would bellow for a few more hours, and then go home and go about the rest of their days without another regard to Mother Earth. The public will have seen their example, and the media will praise them for doing absolutely nothing.

_These people are disgusting… _

At least Wayne was actually going to do something about his agenda. It was murder, but damn it, he was going to do something. These protesters who supposedly represented her world… in her ideal world, they would be the first sacrifices to her plants.

"Aren't they revolting?" she asked Woodrue quietly, studying the crowd of protesters with venomous desire to kill. Woodrue noticed where she was looking, and nodded slowly, smiling softly.

"Of course they are. These young people need a more subtle approach."

"Subtle?" She popped her neck loudly. "Subtle, Woodrue? No. No. They need to do something. That is why they are revolting. There is no action to them. No fire. They live out of expectation from others. They will not act. They will not make a move. Someone here, if they truly believed in the planet, would do what was essential."

"And what is essential, Ivy?" Woodrue studied her intently, curiously brushing his hair with his hand, his eyes glistening. "Tell me, what would you do to make a difference at today's rally?"

"Simple. I would kill Bruce Wayne."

"Come again?" His voice became softer. Pamela just did not care. She repeated her solution to him, and when he heard it, he nodded again, more slowly this time, taking in her words with definitive care. "I see. And you believe that something of that nature would make the difference, Ivy?"

"I know it would," yawned Pamela, motioning for him to follow. She wanted to get away from the noise of the protesters and the cheering crowd of Wayne supporters alike. They were all getting on her nerves, and she may very well go off on them. She had a gun in her pocket. The Glock 26 felt inviting against her leg. As drizzle began to lightly come down, she felt the need to saturate the ground in the blood of so many people… When she and Woodrue (who was still studying her very intently, silently stroking the side of his head) had gone off some ways, she turned to him and stared him in the eyes, saying, "I would put a bullet in his head. I would poison his coffee, or place a bomb inside of his car. I would have him stabbed in the back of the neck, his throat slit, or have him thrown off of a bridge." She smiled a little, sitting down on a park bench. Woodrue, however, continued to stand, not able to take his eyes away from her. She sighed, shaking her head. "The things a girl ponders in the face of necessity. You tell me, Jason… do any of my solutions that I have named sound any less practical than what your cult of protesters will?"

Woodrue pondered her question quietly, now turning away from her (something that few men would do after being named the list of alternatives that she so religiously suggested for Bruce Wayne's ultimate fate) and studied the man himself on the distant stage. She followed his gaze.

Tall and mighty, muscular and handsome, Bruce Wayne was just…perfect. He could have any man or woman he wanted, depending on how he swung, and he had the money to back it up. He was a god in a suit, with the influence of a nation's leader. A billionaire with no limits. On that stage, his aura, his very air was fierce and divine indeed, as he rallied people to this new cause, to destroy a deadly plant species in exchange for energy to be distributed in the form of an underground system of waterways and a dam… His funding was the word of whatever god he professed to be.

Woodrue finally turned back to her, and said, "Your solutions are more practical than anyone else's." Pamela nodded, her expression cold and empty.

"But dear Jason Woodrue… do either of us have the drive? Do either of us have the willingness to do what is necessary?" She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a wooden flask, from which she took a strong swig of Firebreath whiskey in her attempt to drown out her acknowledgment of the people in this square. She offered it to Woodrue, who took it without question and downed a large amount of it quickly. "Hey, be conservative," she demanded, gesturing for him to return it… but Woodrue smiled, and did not hand it back.

"I have the drive, Ivy," he told her softly, shaking the flask before her. "I can take initiative."

"Is that right?" Her eyes narrowed as she stood to confront him, her hand still outstretched. Woodrue was admiring her now, her eyes studying her closely, from her long, flowing crimson curls to her rosy face and glistening lips.

"I'll tell you what, Pamela…" His voice was barely above a whisper now, and he glanced in Wayne's direction again. "I want you to demonstrate what you're willing to do. Show me some action. Hurt someone. Anyone. I don't care who you hurt. But no Wayne, obviously: his security would bring you down before you could even dream of getting close to him. But I want to see your willingness. Threaten someone. Hit someone in the head. Make them fear going against Mother Earth, make them fear going against you."

His eyes gleamed confidently as he said it, his smile reassuringly kind. Pamela had never met anyone like this man. He spoke comfortably, despite the subject matter, and his air about him was so inviting, so calming. She felt safe in that moment, a genuine contribution of protection from him. There was no denying how handsome he was, either. He was a very good-looking man with an air of confidence that was so…attractive. And his smell, so sweet and lavender-like… She felt that if she did show him what he wanted to see, he somehow would not judge her.

_Does he see as I do? Does he understand the length to what must be done?_

She fingered the necklace around her neck. Well, if he did not, she could deal with him…

"You want to see what I'm willing to do, Jason?" she cooed, coming up to him and reaching out a hand. Her fingers lightly brushed his cheek, and Woodrue nodded. She snatched the flask out of his hand, and downed another large gulp, her eyes closing for a moment as she felt its power. Putting the flask away, she got herself under control and gave him a thumbs up, silently scanning the crowd of Wayne's supporters. One of them caught her eye, a skinny little nobody in cargo shorts and a wife-beater, his wide-brimmed "thug" hat bouncing up and down as he cried out in approval of Wayne's "job opportunities under a special sanction of Wayne Enterprises will increased local productivity in the East Walli village by…"

"Let me show the solution, Mr. Woodrue," Pamela enticed her teacher. "Let me show you how to deal with the enemies of nature."

Woodrue looked amused. "I'm sure that by the end of this lesson, the violator will have learned a valuable lesson. I'll observe."

He hovered behind her as she made her move, tapping the man on the shoulder as she fumbled with the chain necklace around her neck. Attached to the ends were two small bottles, both with spray nozzles: one was filled with a bright pink liquid, the other with a pure black substance.

"Hm?" When the man turned, he was surprised to see such a beauty standing before him, and he smiled. "What's up?"

"Oh, much," Pamela said enthusiastically, holding up the small bottle of pink spray before him and releasing a blast of pheromones into his face. At once, whatever mirth had been in the man's face amplified considerably as the pheromones overtook him, and his expression became dumb. He muttered, "Oh, wow…" as she beamed from him to Woodrue, who was frowning at the little bottle in her hand. She wrapped her arm around the man's neck, and whispered, "Follow me, lover…"

"Oh, yeah…" the man moaned, nearly tripping over himself as Pamela merrily skipped ahead, giggling uncharacteristically as she motioned for them both to follow her, Woodrue studying the man now, intently. He was chuckling himself, the boy, his head spinning about as he chased after Pamela, begging for her to come back, hissing at her that he loved her… that he loved her? Whatever she had done to him, Woodrue could feel a victorious air about it.

Pamela led the young man into a nearby alleyway, and Woodrue was glad for the distraction of the nearby police: none of them seemed to notice the three people quickly sinking away into the alley between the local dentist's office and the abandoned apartment complex.

"Come on now, right this way!" Pamela called out in an almost babying like way, and she let one hand tenderly slide down her leg, enticing the man into a full sprint, his breathing intensifying at once. When they had doubled around to a dead end, tucked away in a private little alley that led to a tall, wooden fence, Pamela turned around and swept the man into her arms, stroking his face tenderly and smiling deeply as she gazed into his eyes. Woodrue leaned against the wall and observed. "You're so vulnerable," she whispered to the boy. "You're so very vulnerable. Enslaved. Enraptured. You are truly worthless, aren't you?"

"Yes… yes I am… for you… whatever you wish…" His hands were gripping her shoulders tightly and he was shaking. Pamela, meanwhile, was removing her coat. The light green tank top that she wore beneath hugged her body tightly, and she allowed the intoxicated man to grope at her, giggling uncontrollably as his breathing got more and more out of control…

"See this?" she called out to Jason, as the man began to claw at her, displaying no desire to deviate from his public display of affection. "Do you see, Jason? He is mine. He belongs to me. He is my slave. He will worship me. He will do anything for me." She held the man's face upward, holding him by the chin, smiling. "Won't you?" she whispered, kissing his lips.

"Y-y-y-yes…" the man breathed, his disorientation otherworldly. Woodrue was watching in pure fascination. He had taken his cellular phone out of his pocket, and was recording every detail.

"Would you die for me?" she whispered, her fingers wrapping around his throat. The man did not seem to notice.

"Y-y-yes!" the man insisted, giggling madly, closing in to kiss her again-

"Then die." Pamela held up the other bottle now, the one filled with the black substance, and sprayed the stuff directly into his open mouth. The effect was almost instantaneous. Battered, overwhelming lust suddenly became horror as the man retched loudly, his hands clawing as he grabbed at his face, and Pamela forced him against the wall, the fingers she had placed around his throat constricting now into a full out strangle. Woodrue seemed transfixed, lost in what he was witnessing…

The man was gagging loudly, his tongue sticking out as he choked… and it had turned black. Pamela was laughing, a mad sound of mirth and excitement, as she strangled the obviously poisoned man to death, her eyes bulging wildly as she whipped her crimson hair about her face, her teeth gnashed in almost demented satisfaction…

"This," she called back to Woodrue, "is how you deal with your enemies!"

The man went limp, and slid down to the ground, becoming quite still, empty eyes staring up at their murderess. Pamela exhaled deeply, brushing her hair out of her face as she beamed around at Woodrue, a smile of pure joy on her ruby lips. She gestured at the man's body, her eyes narrowed as she took in Woodrue's transfixed state.

"Do you see now?" she asked him calmly, kicking the man's body fiercely. He toppled over onto his face, and she took a step forward, walking on top of the man's corpse as if he were a rug. "I know the truth, Jason. I know the method. The solution to the human problem that has for so long plagued this Earth." She stepped onto the man's head and then left him there, walking back over to Jason, whose phone hand hung limply at his side, his eyes wide… but not with fear. Instead, with awe. He could not hide the expression of fascination as he looked from Pamela to the dead man and back to Pamela. "This is the solution, Jason Woodrue," she insisted, taking out the flask again. She drunk deeply again, and decided to hand the remainder of the drink to Woodrue, who took it without a word and drained the flask.

When he finally handed the empty flask back to her, his words trembled as he said, "You… you just killed the man. Just like that." He walked over to the man's body, and turned him over, crouching down to examine him. The interior of the mouth was completely blackened. The poison, whatever it had been, had spread quickly and widely, saturating his gums and teeth, corroding the throat and overtaking the veins. "A toxin. A special toxin, too…" He took out his car keys, jingling them to find a tiny little silver flashlight, and lit up the interior of the victim's mouth to see the poison more clearly. "The smell of it… something like hemlock, but… but it's been altered. There's another chemical in there… _Rionus_, perhaps…" He was muttering to himself as though she were no longer there, examining the body as one would during an official autopsy. She could only stand and admire him, feeling an odd sense of peace wash over her.

She had so…easily demonstrated her willingness to fight for the planet. She had shown little hesitation, little fear. For all that she knew, he could have attacked her and brought her to the police, or else tried to kill her for the murder that she had committed. But he, like Alissa, had only stood, admired, and ultimately accepted… She had trusted him completely. There was something about him that made her feel so safe and secure. Why!? Why had she just…trusted him like that? Why had she been so eager to demonstrate herself to him?

_Because he's One. An Ascended. He is One of the Chosen for the new Eden… this is Mother Earth's way of telling you. He can help you, Pamela. He is an answer. A solution. Far more than Alissa ever could be… _

Alissa…

She looked upon Jason Woodrue with the same love and admiration that she had for Alissa. The same acceptance. He was another one, was he not? Another future protector and citizens of the Eden she envisioned?

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Woodrue stood to his feet, and when he turned to face Pamela, he was smiling. His smile brought an odd sensation into her stomach.

"I've seen enough to know you, now, Ivy." And he bowed to her. "You truly love this planet, don't you?"

"Yes…" Pamela breathed. Woodrue took a step closer to her, and she backed up to the wall of the building. The man's corpse lay forgotten by both. Woodrue closed the gap between them quickly, throwing out his arms to either side of her, pinning his hands against the wall as he trapped her between him and it. Her heart began to thunder as he leaned in close, taking in her perfume deeply…

"J-J-Jason?" she whispered, her lips trembling.

He bent his head down, his lips inches from her neck.

"I can help you," he whispered.

Her eyes widened. "W-what?"

"You…and I… the two of us, Ivy… Imagine what we could do. Imagine what we could be capable of."

"Y-yeah? What is that?" she whispered back, her heart hammering very hard, feeling a fire growing inside of her. Woodrue closed his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and she began to panic, breathing out of control as he held her there, the two of them alone in that alley as the drizzle became true rain.

"You're perfect," he whispered into her ear, and her heart broke. Her mind snapped. Her world fell away. She was descending down, down, down into some unknown chasm of the deepest, purest joy…

"Say it again," she plead, her fingers clawing into his back.

"You are perfect," Woodrue repeated. "Ivy. That name is so fitting. That name suits you. Don't forget its meaning. It has a promise behind it, and I see no problem with you not fulfilling that promise. You are _poison_, Ivy."

"Poison Ivy," she whispered back, closing her eyes as some private ecstasy rained down upon her, almost as if it had mixed physically with the water that cascaded down upon them in that moment.

"Poison Ivy, yes… your true name. Your true calling. I wish to know more of her. I wish to know more of Poison Ivy, and I wish to know what she's going to do next. How far she'll go. Because I want to help her. I want to know Poison Ivy."

She physically broke in that moment, overwhelmed by fierce desires and an aching heart. She sat there upon the ground, the rain pounding down upon her as if baptizing her. She was grinning. Laughing. Her laughter became fierce and unhinged, until she had thrown her head up, positively screaming…positively howling with laughter…

And Woodrue? Woodrue had a savage smile upon his face, too, his eyes narrowed.

"You want to know Poison Ivy!?" she exclaimed madly, throwing her head back with savage teeth gnashed into pure joy. "THEN YOU WILL KNOW POISON IVY!"

"YES!" Woodrue screamed, as the rain positively began to drown them now. "IVY, THERE IS SO MUCH WORK TO BE DONE! SO MUCH TO DO FOR MOTHER EARTH!"

Her heart broke as she looked up at him, feeling a deep, deep connection, a true desire and utter love for the man. He held his hand to her, and she took it, standing before him and holding her arms above her head. Her expression was evident. She offered herself to him.

And he took her. There, in that alleyway, with only the dead man to accompany them. Lust became action, and action became passion. The rain poured harder and harder, thunder rumbling loudly and happily as they embraced, Pamela's laughter still ringing about in the manic day, with manic ambitions behind every single note…

In time, Woodrue left her, drenched and weak, to bring the car around to the other side of the alley, and helped load the young man's body into the vehicle, quietly whisking away from the scene as subtly as they had come to it. They buried him in the woods outside of the town, and drove in joyful, confident silence back to Gotham, a journey filled with every thought and ambition the two minds could possibly stand to bear…

Pamela Isley had left Gotham fighting her war alone. She returned to it now, with a man who would help her fight this war… and who would help her realize the truth.


	19. Chapter 19

"Cobanuuuuutttttt!" Lasetta Rilee cried in exasperation, throwing her arms out wildly with a manic expression as green tears flooded from her eyes, dripping onto the floor and sizzling the ground with their acidic effect. The woman sat naked in the middle of a very large greenhouse, surrounded by abundant, colorful flora, isolated from the large crowd of researchers who stood on a walkway above the cage, writing down notes and whispering amongst one another.

Jason Woodrue was leading Anassa up a spiral staircase to join the watchers on the walkway, Albert following close behind. The transaction had been settled, and Joker had been paid his due, along with Woodrue: the Leviathan virus had been distributed equally. Now, Anassa had been permitted into Woodrue's facility, which was hidden beneath the old observatory in northern Gotham. Jamsem Orbital Headquarters had once been the center of Gotham's astronomical studies, a front for Wayne Enterprise employees, but the place had been shut down and abandoned after the newly updated headquarters on the west side of the city had been set up for more room and enhanced wiring. This place was as good as any to maintain a base of operations as Woodrue and Joker planned their first attack on Gotham.

Anassa had been very impressed with the place from the moment she stepped in. The walls and floor were covered in ivy, vines, flower and bushes. An entire ecosystem of plant-life had been established, a kingdom of flora. The elevator down into the main part of the facility smelled heavily of honeysuckle, and she felt right at home. Botany, after all, was her main field of study. Her work had, to Woodrue's observations, greatly caught the eye of W… and when W recommended something, Woodrue felt it wise to heed the recommendation. W always seemed to know who was needed and how they could help Woodrue's research…

Anassa now stood watching Lasetta. The creature (as Anassa first regarded Lasetta) was desperately trying to say something, straining in speech with a very bothered expression.

"COBANUUUUUUUTTTT!" she sobbed, becoming hysterical and slamming her fists down into the dirt in rage. She was throwing a fierce tantrum. As she slammed her fists into the ground, the dirt around her suddenly became very violently affected. Thick, dark, thorny vines exploded out of the ground, hissing loudly and whipping about through the air in a mad form. Green gas was positively pouring out of Lasetta's body. Flowers were simultaneously sprouting almost instantaneously…

The researchers around the walkway remained calm. By now, many of them had fallen victim to Lasetta's accidental tantrum killing sprees. Whenever she became too upset, the spores that her body continually produced would enhance and trigger a defense mechanism in the cellular growth, creating new forms of flora that could fight whatever was causing the distress. The poisonous cloud that came from her pores would amplify. Wesker, Woodrue and the others had, by this point, managed to pin these destructive, life-destroying tantrums to great annoyances and other strong causes of emotion, such as fear. Because of this, they had developed her greenhouse containment center with powerful reinforced glass and other security measures to contain her… At this stage…

"At this stage," Wesker told Anassa, "she has the mental capacity of a four year old, though a severely underdeveloped four year old. The process is slow. We've been having difficulty re-educating her, as close human contact is an essential element in learning. Woodrue himself has worked alongside her… he's the only one who can get close."

"Fascinating," Anassa breathed, bending down and studying the woman closely as she took out a black, electronic tablet and began to type in notes, setting a camera implanted within the device to record. "The spores… you mentioned spores…"

"Her body is constantly emitting these powerful spores. To humans, they are extremely lethal. They are constantly spreading, purifying the ground and growing new life. Watch her now…"

Lasetta had finally calmed, and was reaching down towards the dirt with her hand, still sniffling and blinking back heavy tears. A prod of her finger, and the dirt shifted at once. A flower burst out of the ground, blooming instantly and growing to a length of at least two feet. The flower looked something like Helianthus, but was a vibrant shade of seafoam. When the flower bloomed before Lasetta, the young woman suddenly began to laugh joyously, clapping her hands and shouting, "Yay!" and she proceeded to dab the ground in random places. At each touch, flowers exploded into life, given existence by the woman's glee and touch. Lasetta wiped away her toxic tears, and beamed up at the walkway. Woodrue, who was standing some feet away from the two Weskers, stretched out one of his branch-like arms and gave Lasetta a thumbs up.

"_TRY IT AGAIN, LASETTA. TRY IT AGAIN, NOW. 'CO- - CO- - NUT."_

"Coobannuuttt!" Lasetta strained, and once more, she became very distressed, clenching her hands into a claw form as she bowed her head. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… sorry, Daddy….sorry, Daddy…" She grabbed her head and desperately beat her hands against it. "I'M SORRY, DADDY!" she wailed, sobbing again and crumpling into a mess upon the ground. As she did, new vines exploded out of the earth. These vines were of a dark magenta in shade, and they collapsed down upon Lasetta, forming something like a living, writhing tent over her, shielding her from the view of everyone as she sobbed…

"She can't pronounce 'coconut?'" Anassa frowned. "A relatively simple term."

"_PRONOUNCIATION HAS BEEN AN ISSUE WITH HER_," Woodrue admitted, shaking his head sadly, _"WE STARTED HER WITH SMALL, SIMPLE WORDS. SOMETHING IN HER NEURAL DEVELOPMENT HAS GONE WRONG. THE TREATMENTS WE'VE ADMINISTERED ARE WORKING SLOWLY."_

"What treatments?"

"Hormones," Wesker answered, "designed to stimulate neurons. Something about the poison running through her body has counteracted the hormones. Her body has seen it as an attack."

"And the hormone is an artificial, untested treatment?" Anassa raised an eyebrow. Woodrue shook his head.

"_EVERY HUMAN SUBJECT HAS DIED. THE HORMONE IS DERIVED DIRECTLY FROM MY BODY. ITS INCOMPATIBILITY WITH A HUMAN BODY HAS HAD SEVERE EFFECTS." _

"In other words, the brains were dissolved after the injections," Wesker told her. "Lasetta, however, has the necessary immunity, obviously. But even her body rejects it as an alien substance."

"What do you call it?"

"Aterium. And she has rejected it continuously. We've had to educate her in the old fashioned methods… but it's too slow. At the rate we're moving, Lasetta's mental state will improve very, very slowly. It will take years for her to reach her original intellect."

"_HER TRANSFORMATION CAME WITH AS MANY BAD SIDE EFFECTS AS IT DID GOOD," _said Woodrue, his head bowed. "_LOSS OF MEMORY AND NEURAL RESET WERE AMONG THEM. THE REVERT BACK INTO AN INFANT STAGE HAS SET US BACK… SO, ANASSA BLACKWOOD, THIS IS WHY WE NEED YOU._"

"I understand now. If I can get close to her… I could find a way of to make her body accept the hormone…" Anassa was rubbing her hands together. She had put away the tablet. "No time like the present, then. I wish to go down to her."

"You cannot," Wesker told her at once. "You would not survive the cloud of spores around her body. Their toxicity rate exceeds Strychnine in effect."

"What range?"

"Range?"

"Yes. What range?"

Wesker considered her question for a moment. Woodrue looked over to one of his researchers, a woman, who piped up at once, "Charles only died after getting within three foot radius…" Another researcher put his arm around her and patted her gently. Wesker nodded.

"Yes… I'm still sorry about that, Elaine." He looked at Anassa. "Three feet seems to be the minimal excess range. However… during her tantrums, it amplifies beyond ten. Even twenty, at one point. It's why she'll make such an effective weapon against Gotham. She is unpredictable and limitless when enraged or disturbed."

"Alright, then… three feet for smiles, and who the hell knows for all the rest." Anassa sounded confident, and she looked excited. "Now bring me down there. I want to meet her."

"_ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT, MISS BLACKWOOD?"_

Anassa turned to Woodrue at once, looking annoyed. "No. No, no, no. No, I'm not. I'm just…saying all of this for my health…" Her expression was cold. Woodrue turned away from her.

"_VERY WELL. WE'LL PLAY ALONG. W…BRING HER DOWN TO LASETTA."_

"As you wish." He, however, did not sound happy about it. Begrudgingly, he led Anassa down the walkway to an elevator, and once inside, and the doors had closed, he turned to her at once and said, "What are you thinking? Taking risks this early…"

"I'm not afraid of her, love," Anassa whispered, pecking him on the lips. She lightly slapped him, and jerked her head at the buttons. "Take me down."

Wesker, looking annoyed, sighed and said, "Don't be an idiot when you're in there…"

The elevator rocketed downward, and Anassa smiled. "You know me: I play the part of idiot well."

"Selectively, I've noticed…"

"Understand this, love: if she has a temper tantrum… it's my problem. Not yours."

"As a matter of fact, it's both," Wesker snapped as the elevator halted at the bottom of its venture. The doors sprang open. A narrow corridor between the elevator and the greenhouse doors spread out before them, encased in the same reinforced glass. Anassa could see a small room beyond the doors, which she could only assume was for sterilization prior to entry into the greenhouse. Anassa gave Wesker a small wave and proceeded silently down the way, but before she reached the doors at the end, she looked around and called back, "I'll expect you to take notes, the lot of you. Learn from a woman how to handle a woman." And with a sneer at Wesker's furious expression, Anassa entered the doors and was sealed in the small room. Wesker vanished into the elevator and was away at once.

The room was at least four feet in length, compressively tiny. The walls, floor and ceiling were metal grates with hundreds of little dark holes, out from which sprayed a colossal amount of light blue gas, enveloping Anassa. She could feel the chemicals eating away any potential bacteria on her skin, sterilizing her… It was like a fine bath in a drizzle day. A little green light above the door to the greenhouse switched on, indicating a clean subject, and the doors whizzed open at once.

Anassa stepped forward into the vibrant, slightly humid and warm utopia of flora. The flowers in here were unique creations that she had never beheld. Green sunflowers and purple glories, vines that seemed to snake along the ground on their own and multi-headed, crimson Venus flytraps that twisted about on the ceiling above, dribbling green goo from their open mouths, their bulbs sporting white circles ingrained…

It was perfect in this place. Peaceful isolation, devoid of human life. She could stay here for hours and study the creatures within, taking notes on each and theorizing new ways of treating them, growing them, perfecting them…

She walked along a dirt path towards the center of the greenhouse, and found the swathe of purple vines that protected Lasetta from the eyes of others. The clump was so massive that it was difficult to pinpoint just where Lasetta herself was, and so Anassa kept her distance, glancing upward. She saw Woodrue, Wesker and the others staring down at her intently, Wesker actually sweating a little. She smiled. _He's concerned about me, the softie… _She gave them a little wave, and turned her attention back to Lasetta's cocoon.

Above, Woodrue turned to Wesker and said, "_SHE'S VERY UNIQUE. YOU'VE CHOSEN AN INTERESTING HELPER."_

Wesker nodded. "She'll do her job well. I guarantee that."

"_AND IF SHE DIES?"_

"She won't… trust me, I've tried killing her. She just doesn't die."

Below, Anassa kicked off her heels so that she could feel the cold dirt beneath her feet, and sat down, tracing her finger throughout the soil, doodling little people and flowers, keeping an eye on the cocoon some feet away. She drew a little house, and a family standing beside it, and then when she had finished, she called out, in a soft, tender voice, "Lasetta, love… why not come out of there now?"

The vines around Lasetta shook wildly, and Anassa heard a soft moaning. Anassa, smiling, said again, in an even softer voice, "Lasetta, dear… I want to meet you. I want to meet you, Lasetta, and play with you. How about it?"

Two vines peeled apart, and Anassa some shining, glowing green eyes peering out at her from the darkness of the cover of the vines. Curious eyes. Anassa waved a little, smiling softly, and patted the ground lightly with a hand. "Come and see what I've drawn here. I want your opinion on it." She scooted away, patting the earth again. "Come and see…"

A hand came out, dirty and covered in little green vines. Anassa suddenly caught the scent of something secretive and foul. Just barely, she saw the air around the hand haze. The spores… eternal spores, eternal excess… _Very well. The game begins. _

A messy clump of black hair, and Lasetta emerged from the vines, willing them to fall away, crawling slowly with wide, staring eyes through the dirt towards Anassa, who pointed at the doodles upon the ground and said, gently, "What do you think?"

Lasetta crawled over to the doodles, and studied each one carefully. The family was four: a little girl with long hair and flowers all over her body, a tall tree-like figure with a smiley face, a second man with sunglasses and a long coat, and finally a woman with slightly shorter hair, a fine dress and a large grin. Lasetta pointed at the tree man with excitement, and exclaimed aloud, "Daddy!"

Anassa studied the haze as she said it. The air seemed to become more so affected as Lasetta recognized Woodrue. _So… the spores spread out during excitement as much as shock. _As Lasetta moved about on the ground, she saw little buds of flowers popping up everywhere. Anassa was fascinated. It seemed like any contact that Lasetta had with the soil… _created new life wherever she touched. _The spores were designed for that purpose: Lasetta was a walking Garden of Eden Creation Kit.

"Your flowers are beautiful," Anassa told her, wishing she could reach out and pick one up… but she dared not go close to Lasetta, and for that matter, the flowers that her body produced, either… which brought even more panic to her in that moment. Just how much of this greenhouse was produced from her spores? Were they all poisonous? What could she touch safely in this place?

"Ismee!" Lasetta cried, and she actually clapped her hands. Anassa blinked.

"Eh?"

"Ismee! Ismee!" Lasetta cried happily again, prodding hard at the doodles. She was poking at the little girl with flowers, and Anassa nodded, smiling, translating "ismee" as "It's me!"

"Wonderful, wonderful… and what about that one, way over there?" She pointed, without getting her hand too close to the air around Lasetta, at the doodle of Wesker, and Lasetta giggled loudly, exclaiming, "Grandpa!"

Anassa choked, stifling her laughter at once, exploding into a series of silent snorts. Above, Wesker's mouth twitched. "That's right," Anassa said, trying to keep a straight face, "it's grandpa. A great old prune. Washed up and insecure…" She smiled sheepishly up at Wesker, who was shaking his head. "Though he's not so bad, once you get to know him, I suppose."

"Grandpa looks funny!" Lasetta snorted, drawing little flowers around him with her finger… and she did drew the little flowers into the dirt, real ones sprouted up at her touch. Vibrant greens and pinks, with twisting little black tendrils…

Anassa was content now. Lasetta was not so bad…

"Who!?" Lasetta cried, suddenly pointing at the doodle of the woman.

"Why, that's me!" said Anassa. "My name is Anassa, Lasetta. Anassa. Can you say Anassa?"

Lasetta stared at her with wide eyes, her lips pursed and her fingers doing a little dance. "OH!?"

"Anassa. Can you say the name, 'Anassa?'"

"OH! OH! OH! OH! OH! Ansa! Ansa… Ansa…"

_Did Wesker say she had a four year old mentality? More like two or three… _

"Well, dear, all in good time."

"Ansa!" Lasetta cried, her face strained.

Anassa, sensing danger, nodded. "Yes, that's right. Ansa! You got it right!"

"ANSA!" Lasetta cried, her grin so wide and prominent, clapping her hands together and blinking back tears of joy… the spores were moving forward, and Anassa leapt up at once, backing away slowly, still nodding and grinning. The air dissipated after a few seconds, saturating the ground… sprouting more and more flowers…

Lasetta had jumped to her feet, grinning at Anassa, her arms wide open. She wanted to hug Anassa. Anassa's heart broke… she wanted to hug Lasetta too… "I want to be your friend, Lasetta," she said quickly, trying to distract Lasetta from the woman's desire for a hug. "Do you want to be mine?"

"FRIEND!" Lasetta cried, giggling and giggling. She bounced up and down, and as she did, vines exploded out of the ground, dancing merrily about with her, thrashing wildly through the air. Anassa grinned, back flipping away as the vines swung further and further, taking to the air with such grace. She landed with cat-like promise, and Lasetta was cheering, screaming with joy.

"ANSA'S FUN! ANSA'S FUN! I LOVE YOU ANSA!" She meant it. Her face meant it.

Anassa smiled, deciding that because of the thrashing vines, it was not safe to retrieve her heels. Therefore, she held up a hand, and called out to Lasetta, "I'm going to come back, with toys and treats! Would you like to play some more games, Lasetta?"

"PLAY! I WANT TO PLAY WITH ANSA!"

"Alright, then! We will!" Anassa promised. "I'll be back…"

"Ansa… I love Ansa…" Lasetta was moving forward, her arms outstretched. The large vines were moving with her. The haze in the air was becoming more and more overwhelming. It was time to go. Lasetta was not going to stop… and if Anassa ordered her away, it would break the connection early. Anassa hurried into the sterilization room, closing the doors behind her, and after another bath in the blue gas, entered the elevator, Wesker waiting for her within. When the doors closed, Anassa leaned against the wall, breathing excitedly at the near miss. Wesker was looking unhappy, as she expected.

"Had enough?" he demanded.

Anassa shook her head. "No, no, no… not even close! I'm going out right now to buy her toys and treats, as I promised her. I want to come back and play a game with her."

"But _why_!?" Wesker demanded, punching the button to send them back up. Anassa stood her ground.

"Because she needs interaction beyond Jason Woodrue, that is why! Because she requires it! It is essential that she have other people in there, around her, educating her. I need to get close. I can solve the solution, Albert. I can solve the solution as to how to make her able to absorb the hormone that Woodrue has offered her. I intend to work very closely with her."

The elevator came to a halt, and Woodrue was waiting for them outside of the doors.

"_YOU'VE DONE VERY WELL. YOU'RE CAREFUL. YOU'RE CALMING TO HER. ANY DOUBT ABOUT YOU THAT I PREVIOUSLY HELD IS LONG GONE." _

"Good, because I'm not finished. Not even close. Can I see her again, tonight? I want to buy her some toys and candy. Do you think she can eat candy?" She walked over to the edge of the walkway and looked down. Lasetta had noticed her, and was jumping up and down, waving frantically at her, her face strained. She already missed Anassa. Anassa waved back, smiling, and saw that Lasetta's vines were hugging the top of the greenhouse… as if intent on grabbing Anassa and pulling her back down to Lasetta.

"If you wish to visit with her, we must always be in observation," Wesker said at once, firmly, his eyes glowing fiercely from behind his sunshades. Woodrue nodded.

"_AGREED. I WANT TO SEE FOR MYSELF THE DIFFERENCE YOU MAKE IN HER LIFE. I WANT TO OBSERVE YOUR METHODS."_

"And you may, but I'm going to need you to do so in a very subtle manner," she warned them both. She was studying Lasetta, who had found Anassa's heels. She was poking at them with curiosity, as if Anassa may burst out of them at any moment and surprise her… "I don't want Lasetta seeing you both all the time. You have both left an impression upon her, but she needs the association of other people, without you both. If you are to observe, do so in secrecy. Let her feel isolation with different individuals. And I assure you that my work with her will be so much more affective."

"_I SEE NO REASON TO DENY YOUR REQUEST," _said Woodrue. "_AS LONG AS YOU ARE SURE THAT YOU CAN HANDLE HER. SHE IS UNPREDICTABLY DANGEROUS, AS YOU SAW FOR YOURSELF. YOU CANNOT JUDGE, EFFECTIVELY, THE RANGE OF HER SPORES."_

"I love games, Mr. Woodrue," Anassa told him at once, smirking. "Games are a cornerstone of my existence. Believe me when I say, the anticipation of the danger will be enough to keep me enthralled. I want to work with Lasetta and help her. You've seen for yourself her talents. What she is capable of. It's perfection, and she has realized it. I want to see that talent grow. Don't you agree that she needs to be able to leave this greenhouse and experience more things?"

"_WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU HAVE IN MIND?" _

Anassa grinned. "Oh, I don't know… how about taking her out to dinner… to a movie… and perhaps even a carnival."

Wesker stared madly at her. But Anassa… Anassa was writhing in confidence.


	20. Chapter 20

"I'm not sure what will happen, truth be told," Pamela told Woodrue as she opened up the door to her home. Her mind had been reeling for some time as they had driven silently back into Gotham. They were supposed to have confronted Wayne… they were supposed to have did many things at the protest, but once Pamela had demonstrated her plan for their enemies, Woodrue had whisked them away quickly and quietly, promising that there would be another time to confront Wayne… And so it was that Pamela had brought him back into her home. She needed to know more about this man. She needed to understand the depth of what he would do for the planet, and how he could best serve her…

"I have visions, Ivy. Visions of something extraordinary." Woodrue examined her home with fierce love. The plants that engulfed the rooms spoke wonders to his eyes as he tenderly stroked their leaves and took in their scents. Pamela led him into her bedroom, sitting down on the bed and facing the wall, her body shaking. Her heart was still hammering. She had become something new tonight. Something about Woodrue's confidence and encouragement had snapped something into place. Something…that made sense, and felt holy.

Woodrue bent down and studied the bedside display of Archibald Helan's severed head. Pamela had neglected it of late. It was beginning to smell funny and had turned an ugly gray.

"Who?" Woodrue whispered softly.

"One of the first men who ever showed me the truth," Pamela whispered. She began to tell him the story, giving him detail after detail as to why Archibald Helan had changed her life. Woodrue listened with attentive care, nodding where it was needed, his eyes never betraying anything other than pure concern and interest. When she had finished recounting her tragedy, he sat beside her and placed an arm around her, staring at the severed head.

"He's beautiful, like this. This is a true solution, Ivy. Genocide. It is perhaps the only real solution to our problems. The planet needs a reset. Helan, here… he acts as a reminder each day, doesn't he? That is why you keep him close to your bed."

"I… I want to get rid of him… but I just can't…" Her voice quivered, and she smiled sadly. "Archibald showed true remorse when I murdered him. He was sorry for what he had done. And I forgave him for it. He paid the price for his sin in death. I no longer feel hatred for him. I feel only love for him. I love him… so much…" She stroked Helan's rotting hair with a tender hand. "He was honest. He was true. And he helped me see my potential. He helped to break me… and so I met Poison Ivy. So I met me."

"Good for him to do something like that… good for him indeed. I feel, though, as if you don't need any more reminders. You've gone past that point, Ivy. And with my help… you won't need him. Why not dispose of him? Your bedside would look much nicer without him."

"I suppose… but how and where? He needs a proper burial. I owe him that."

Woodrue smiled, squeezing her shoulder. "We'll find a place. I promise. Now… Ivy, listen to me… I want to tell you something I have told…well, no one. No one else, because quite honestly, no one else deserves it. I've seen the lengths you are willing to go to, and I feel your cause as true, so I will tell you this: you are a living reminder of why I gave my soul to Mother Earth. You are a living reminder of my dedication."

"In what way?" Pamela sighed, laying across the bed and stripping down. She wanted him to look at her body and lust for her again, as he had in the alleyway. She wanted him to touch her, to desire her… to worship her… But Woodrue only admired her pleasantly, his mind far, far away from more physical desires. He laid across the bed too, holding her hand in his, and gazed longingly into her eyes… Her heart began to beat rapidly. His smell was so strong… how she yearned for that lavender scent of his…

Woodrue, inside, smiled as well. _She's so easy…too easy… _The pheromones that he dosed her with went without detection on her part. He could feel her easing up to him, becoming aroused and attentive. He had her under his spell…

"Pamela… I want to tell you the truth. I want to tell you why I dedicated my life to the reestablished Eden…"

"Tell me," she whispered softly, gradually nudging Helan's head off of the bedside table with her foot. She did not want to see him right now. Not in this moment. Woodrue, feeling the need to keep his seduction up (as he had in the alleyway, when he had enticed her to demonstrate her solution to him, courtesy of the secretive pheromones he wore), took to bed with her, dimming the light of the room and sacrificing any faint remainder of his own modesty. They lay there naked in that bed, touching each other, gazing into each other's eyes, and Woodrue knew that she had become the slave now. He had her. She belonged to him in that moment, and she would listen to anything he had to say…

Smiling, Woodrue began to speak. "I grew up a long way away from this place, did you know? Now, of course, I have a family home in Oregon. The Woodrues have always had an estate there, the remnants of decades of work, but I myself was raised on the family farm in West Virginia. We owned a private series of acres in Cabell, some ways outside of the city of Huntington. Our farm… it specialized in peaches and livestock. I am a child of the country."

"I admire that," Pamela said softly, her eyes dazed over. The pheromones, he knew, truly now were taking effect. She had been his slave for a while now… and he was satisfied to have her under his influence. She kissed him, and he allowed her to make such an advance, responding with the right touches in the right places… but only in small doses. After all, reward had to come from her listening.

"Yes, life growing up on a farm was very becoming for a man of my studies. I did not just grow up knowing plants: I breathed them. I lived them. They were like family. They were family. Still are… In fact, they were the only family I had for some time while I lived there. At least, after I lost…" His voice broke, and he faked a quiver. Predictably, she detected his subtle pain, and her eyes filled with concern at once.

"Tell me," she whispered again. Woodrue, playing the part well, smiled and nodded.

"I had a sister," he told her. "Mark these words well, Pamela, because I never tell anyone else this. My sister's name was Pampadora. Pampadora Woodrue. And she was my life."

"Your life…?"

Woodrue smiled. "She was the only person I could tolerate. I laugh, now, thinking back on it… how similar my circumstances are to the rest of my family. We were always close to our siblings out of necessity. It breaks my heart, thinking back on it now. But… Pampadora and I were of one life. Without her, I had no life. No reason. Nothing. It was an empty way of being, once I lost her…"

"Don't stop," Pamela whispered to him, stroking his hair…wanting to comfort his shaking body… And so he began.

"Pampadora protected me, Ivy. She was there for me when no one else could be, when no one else _would_ be. Thinking back on all of it, even now, I can no longer remember my childhood before her. All I remember was my time with her, and what she did for me. What she taught me. From the earliest memories that I can hold onto, Pampadora protected me from my own mother and father. Both were kind enough, and never would have been found abusing substances… and yet they were far worse than people guilty of those sins. They lived in condescension, expecting the expected."

"Expected?"

"Social expectation. We were a rich, powerful family… and we were expected to display it. From my birth, I was raised to be a man of business, instructed on how to deal with people, how to manage expenses and make necessary sacrifices to an order…pruning branches off of a tree so that the tree could continue to thrive. They desired me to be ruthless, expecting formality of dress, speech and action in every day life. I was slave to their manner of doing things. Social life was a non-existent thing: friends of locality aspired to be men of space and entertainment, and thus were considered a poison to my upbringing. My parents had private tutors to homeschool me. I was denied a driver's license and a car until I had become a man. I was not allowed to leave the farm. When they unleashed me into the grand world, I would be, ideally, the definition of distinguished."

"And that was why Pampadora held me close. She knew that my parents were destroying my chances at having a life. She knew what they were taking away from me. I spent my days with her, in her greenhouse. You see, she was a genius. More than a genius. She had been born a goddess of the mind. A prodigy child, filled with the deepest intellect. From the age of one, she was already articulating basic words, and her literary range was advanced far beyond her years. She was an embodiment of perfection, a living wellspring of knowledge. And she loved me. She loved me so very much."

"I found comfort in my sister's words when she spoke, as she instructed me on the care of plants and the importance of them in the maintenance of a true ecosystem. She, like me, despised our parents. They saw her love, her "obsession", as they put it, with plants as a mere shield to her true potential, as a massive waste of time. They could not appreciate her, as they could not appreciate me. But flowers were her life. Steadily, in the greenhouse on our farm, she experimented on them."

"Experimented on flowers…" Pamela breathed, closing her eyes in relish. "Wonderful."

Woodrue nodded, and took her some more, subjecting her to a most passionate affair that left her breathless, before continuing his story.

"She had obtained her ingenuity from our ancestors. Our family was of a very unique strand of individuals, spawning geniuses throughout the generations. Our genes were courtesy of the earliest settlers in America, prodigies who came from Britain to help settlers establish effective government in the new land. We enjoyed the majesty of having come from some of the most brilliant people of the ages: Alonsis Nedry, Killory Woodrue, Janus Dae and, of course, my family's most famous connection in lineage: the Ashfords. The founder of the Ashford, Veronica, had been a prodigy of mind and form, and her descendants carried on her superior genes, spreading them through family relations. The Woodrues are perhaps the closest in lineage to the Ashfords, so much so that our families reflected upon one another for our exploits and discoveries."

"Pampadora was a natural recipient of Veronica's distant genes, not unlike our cousins in Europe… and by the age of ten, she had already graduated basic school and had moved onto college level courses. I found comfort in Pampadora, shielded and protected by her kindness and realistic outlook on the rest of the world. A living utopia… but I don't doubt for a moment that my parents loved me." He gazed into her eyes intently. Both sets were wet. "No, my parents loved me very much… so much so that they became blinded by their desire to give me a future in all the wrong ways. And this made them a liability. A road block. An obstacle."

"That's why she did it. Even when she did it the first time, and I acknowledged that my parents did not in fact hate me… I still saw fit for her to do it. She did it quickly enough… well, for my tastes. They were bound to chairs, and she brought me in, so that I could watch. She did not want me to miss it, Ivy… she did not want me to miss a second of it… And I did watch. I watched and watched and _enjoyed_… Oh, how I enjoyed it… It was the most beautiful, most romantic moment… they choked, and they spasmed… they died so horribly. No… it was not a quick, peaceful death at all…" He was looking away from her now, his focus lost as he gazed longingly at the distant wall… and yet still she listened. She listened so intently. "She poisoned them… as easily and willingly as you poisoned that poor bastard in Bludhaven… as I myself have poisoned many, many of my own enemies…"

He gripped her by the shoulders, his face filled with some kind of passionate madness. "It always comes down to poison, my beloved Ivy… Poison dominates our souls, and becomes us. Chemical death… liquidated destruction… Poison becomes our soul itself. And I enjoyed it… I relished in it… I reveled in it… Watching my sister force their stupid faces into that clay pot of mutated hemlock…" He pulled away from her, sitting up and staring at the door now. Pamela climbed up to him, gripping his shoulders, desperate for him to not take his gaze away from her… she wanted his eyes as he spoke… But now Woodrue had become quite frantic.

"The effects are evident, dear brother," he whispered… and when he whispered, he did so in a strange voice. Almost… almost a high-pitched sort of voice. As if he were deathly afraid of something. "This strain of hemlock has been advanced to a highly poisonous degree. A small cutting could kill an entire school within a matter of minutes… but you do not need to worry, love. This sample will not harm you. Go ahead…touch it…"

"Jason?"

"Eat it," Woodrue insisted, his mind going blank at once.

"Jason!?" Pamela shook him hard.

"Dear brother," Woodrue whispered, "a small ingestion of hemlock, and your death will be ensured. The poison is called coniine… Coniine reaps the neuromuscular connections. It will paralyze your system, your organs, bringing everything to a deathly halt before taking away your ability to breath. Watch, now… I'm going to demonstrate on mommy…"

Pamela stopped trying to get Woodrue back to his senses. The man was in some kind of trance… but she still could not shake off this… this desire for him. Why!? What was it about the man that drew her to an almost uncontrollable beastliness?

Woodrue turned around to look at her. "See now, Jason… see how she seizes up like that, and how she struggles… oh, shut up, Daddy… you're next…"

Pamela's heart was beating so hard that her own breathing was beginning to stopper. Her chest erupted in the pain of it. She had such desire… such necessity…

Woodrue's pupils dilated. "Ivy…"

At the sound of her name, her insides jellified. She forced her hands into his chest, pushing him down fiercely, and began to advance, adamant on taking control of this situation: whatever it was about Jason, she did not want to be the ogling one. She reached beneath the bed, and yanked out a large perfume bottle, aiming the nozzle and the pheromones within right in his face. She blasted him desperately, her teeth gritted, and as she did, she hissed, "Enough talk. Obey me… obey me, and no more talking…"

Woodrue smiled softly. "Ivy, dear… what are you doing?"

"What is it about you?" she breathed, her eyes wide and mad. She tossed aside the bottle in frustration, and it smashed against the wall, spilling pheromone chemical all over the carpet. The fumes wafted about the room and overwhelmed them both, to the point where even her own head began to swim into the strongest daze…

And yet Woodrue could only watch her, smirking. Half of that smirk was a genuinely sympathetic form of smile, though even he decided at best to hide this face from himself: she was an experiment, after all. From the moment he had first begun to instruct her in his class, he had seen her aptitude of deeper understanding…deep love…for plants and their place upon the Earth. In Bludhaven, his own control over her had forced her to demonstrate how far she was willing to take that love. She had signed up for this. When he had first caught the whiff of the pheromones during his first encounter with her at the greenhouses, he had held suspicions about her that she was actively participating in something very illicit with her time… Bludhaven had all been a test, and tonight had confirmed everything: she, like Pampadora, had discovered how to utilize plant pheromone extracts efficiently. He suspected, too, that she had a part in the many disappearances over the past year that had started off with a series of incidents right here on campus…

Standing to his feet, he decided that he must investigate in peace: he would drug her, and search the house. If he found evidence that she was indeed involved in the many disappearances… well, then he would know that she was going to be very, very useful to him. Truly Poison Ivy, as she proclaimed.

"Jason!" She clambered after him as he walked over to his jacket and began to search the top-most pocket. "Come to bed. Don't stop the flow now… don't stop the flow…" She was giddy and out of it. The overdose of her own pheromones had knocked her silly… coupled with Jason's own contributions… He felt not a thing. She felt everything. And so too did she feel the sharpness of the needle of his syringe as he jabbed it into her neck, and watched her collapse at his feet. She was out cold… but she would be fine. A mere anesthetic, to allow him peace and time to search the house.

And he went immediately for the basement. The basement, as Pampadore had told him, was the key. "Pirates bury their treasure," she had told him, "because the dirt is such a safe place for treasure to thrive." It helped that he could detect a barrage of chemicals coming up the staircase, even through the danky door. He smiled in satisfaction. His senses were god-like… they had always been god-like… he had always been god. Had he found a goddess? A goddess that came anywhere close to the perfection that had been Pampadora…?

_Oh, Pampadora… oh, my goddess Pampadora… I will never fail you. I will never disappoint you… I will do everything for you. _

The basement smelled foul for many more reasons than the mad table of chemicals and bubbling beakers where, he confirmed, Pamela must have been preparing her poisons and pheromones for some time. It came from other things, too. Other people. He beheld Alissa, curled into a corner, sleeping (or perhaps dead… one could hardly tell). The young woman was nearly starved and pale, weak and crazed, by the look of it. She was surrounded by her own shit and piss. An untamed animal, by appearance. Chains lay open around her body.

As he made his way around to her, he studied the tables closely. These poisons were many. Cuttings of hemlock and containers of ricin and arsenic… Plants samples of Mortrius and cannabis, nightshade and Gloratess… hallucinogenics and deadlies. On one table, a collection of eyes. Fresh eyes, too, preserved in some gunky liquid. These he was very intrigued by. Human eyes, they seemed to be. In a jar beside that one, a collection of penises and ears, bits of noses and a few toes.

Pamela had been collecting body parts. From her victims? It seemed almost so. But why? To what purpose? The basement was a utopia for a serial killer, and Woodrue now acknowledged as truth that that was exactly what Pamela Isley was. A true serial killer… and one who had been doing a very intent job for some time. Notes lay scattered all around these things. He read a few:

_Hybrid failed. Rejected the pieces. Trying again…. Seventeen, this time. Young enough, but will it make a difference? No… failed again… Made a hand do a little jiggle, but only for a second. Probably a reflex. The nerves are tricky… Miss Kathy lasted five minutes. Impressive for the enhanced injection, but I need them to survive longer. I need them to survive long enough to see results from the other injections… _

Nothing concrete here, all abstract. He would need to force the truth out of her: what was she doing with these body parts? And what were the injections that she had mentioned? Photographs were pinned above this table to the wall, freshly developed, it seemed, and only slightly discolored from the fumes that swum about this foul-smelling room. Bodies. Bodies of what appeared to be men and women strapped to some kind of table… a table that looked oddly enough like the one directly behind him right now, in the center of the room. Each victim seemed to be lost in pain, their expressions agonous, their veins bulging and their teeth gnashing… On every single photograph was a bright red sticker of a sad face.

Only one photograph on the wall showed anything different, and it was of Pamela herself, along with a friend. Pamela had her arm around the shoulders of a young woman with flowing blonde hair and a very well built face, eyes bright blue and shining. Both girls seemed to be content enough with the park that they seemed to be standing in, Pamela's smile cool and confident, the girl's more refined but no less filled with joy. In permanent marker, Pamela had written something on the bottom of the photograph: **Ivy and Lissa, BFF's forever…**

_Lissa? Lissa, Lissa… _

Alissa Jagner. The young woman who had went missing prior to Woodrue's arrival at the college. The young woman who had been noted for always hanging around with Pamela, whose disappearance had led to brief harassment from the campus police and GCPD…

Frowning even deeper, mainly because he wished to know all about the nature of these photographs and notes, he finally turned to the sleeping creature. He knew at once that what he beheld before him was Alissa Jagner. Sitting down beside her, ignoring the fecal matter that so disgustingly saturated his pants (he had worked with far worse in his career), he shook Alissa gently.

Alissa jerked, moaning loudly as wide, tormented eyes stared up at him… and when she saw him, she shrieked loudly, those eyes filling with tears at once as she clambered at the front of his shirtless body, clawing into him desperately as her breathing became mad and lost in a barrage of wildness.

Woodrue remained calm. He nodded, acknowledging the woman's right. '

"Alissa Jagner?"

"Getmeoutofherpleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasegetmeoutgetmeout!" She was spluttering her words, her body lost in spasm as tears cascaded down her dirty face. "Sheiscrazymadcraztmadmadmadmadmadmad…" She was rocking back and forth, shielding her face from the light of the basement, burying it into Jason's chest. Jason placed an arm around her, and sighed, nodding in his understanding.

"I understand, Miss Jagner. How long have you been down here?" He whispered soothingly into his ear.

"Getmeout!" Alissa sobbed into his shoulders, gagging and choking. She vomited, the contents of her shrunken, skeletal system staining his naked body… and still, he cared not. He gave it little regard. He was a million miles away. This blonde woman had been through Hell, and he could see it. He could feel it. Pamela had done terrible things to her. Very terrible things. "Getmeoutgetmeout…"

"Okay, okay… I will save you, Alissa." Woodrue's voice was calm and assuring. He stood up, dragging Alissa along with him, who would not release her grip on him. He did manage to peel her hands off of his chest and clasped firmly in his hand. His mind was working fast. This was a fascinating find, a grand discovery down in Pamela's basement… and he could do something marvelous indeed to appeal to 'Poison Ivy' in a personal way. He placed his hands upon Alissa's body, and examined every inch of her. She was a stunning woman, when fed right and restored. This he knew. This he understood. He noted bowls of dog food, cat biscuits and what seemed to be a crudely burnt slab of beef roast on a plate near the filthy, unsanitary mess that had been Alissa's nest… Pamela had treated her "BFF forever" as nothing less than an animal. This simply would not do. He tutted softly in his head, shaking it and sighing. "I'm going to take you away from this place, Alissa."

"YES!" Alissa screamed, sobbing and sobbing as she stumbled into the table of body parts, knocking a jar of fingers onto the floor, where it happily smashed and began pointing in many directions with its various indexes. "I want out want out want out want out…"

Woodrue brought the woman back to him, calming her in his arms, shushing her softly. He even pressed his lips to her filthy hair. "It's alright, now, Miss Jagner… I'm here for you. Whatever Pamela Isley was trying to do with you… she will not succeed. I promise. Come. Come with me now. Up the stairs… that's it…yes, right, now, come on." He helped her ascended, practically carrying her in his arms as her legs bended about wildly. How long had she been down here, and how long had she been on the floor? Her ankles showed bruises from the chains that had supposedly been used to bolster down the victim. But those chains had been removed from her when he had come down… Alissa, it seemed, had not tried escaping. Something was wrong with the young woman's mind, and Pamela had seen to that, probably intentionally.

Up the stairs and into the kitchen, Alissa stumbled across the room, breathing raggedly and wildly, her eyes bulging as she struggled for the front door… and Woodrue followed her closely behind, but only after retrieving something from the bedroom. Another syringe from his coat pocket, filled with the same anesthetic he had used on Pamela. He had plans for Alissa Jagner this night, now that he had found her. She was suitable to be helped in the greatest way imaginable…

_"Remember, Jason: when you are given the ultimate opportunity, you are not just encouraged to take advantage of it: you are compelled. Required. It is mandatory. This is a goddess law, and I am the goddess: take the opportunity, despite inconvenience, and serve the opportunity. Worship the opportunity." _

"Yes, goddess," Woodrue whispered. Outside, Alissa scrambled, screaming into the night, and Woodrue worked quickly to subdue her, grabbing her into his arms and running with her towards his car. Alissa was kicking and screaming, forgetting, it seemed, that this man had just saved her from goddess Pampadora knew what… But she was in the backseat before long, forced onto the leather by a fierce shove from Jason, and he quickly enough put her at ease, injecting her with the anesthetic and pinning her into the seat as she slipped away into unconsciousness…

When he was sure that she had been secured away, and that she would sleep soundly, Woodrue returned to Pamela. The anesthetic was powerful, and she would be out for many hours to come. He sat upon her bed, admiring her body with the deepest lust. She was so beautiful. She was perfect, a form of Aphrodite in body and spirit. Half of him wanted to carry her out to the car and bring her away from this place alongside Alissa, and give to her the same gift that he now planned to give Alissa… but he needed Pamela in the right at the right time, for now. He knew her potential and understood her role in things to come. He would use her. He would manipulate her for as long as he could, and when the time was right, and her work had been done, he would make her his forever. He knew that much, at least. She was a fine thing to look at indeed, and he had enjoyed every second spent fucking her this very evening… so much so that she could be made to act as his mating partner without question or delay. There was days coming that would change the world as they knew it, days that would be affected by Jason Woodrue's work… and even Pamela Isley could have a place. Not beside him, of course. No. His queen had to be special, something beyond words and thought. Pamela Isley was a key to fulfilling that wish… but in the end, she was just another pretty face to manipulate for as long as he needed, and to either be disposed of, or made to serve some lesser purpose, at his desire.

_She'll do... something, I'm sure, Pampadora. Her and a million other lovely flowers._ Jason liked women. He liked them a lot. One could never have enough flowers in one's life. He had time. He decided that he would drive Alissa back to his own home in the city, and set her up with far better accommodations than what Pamela had given her. Then, he would return to here and ensure that when Pamela awoke, it would be in her bed, with her beside her. She would have few memories of this night, and in her drunken state, there was no way she would ever remember having been drugged. He would tend to the prick in her neck. He had to keep her close on a complacent level, for now. He needed to get answers out of her.

So, taking out his phone, he proceeded to photograph every inch of her body, turning her over and shooting from every angle imaginable, salivating as he did it… These pictures would do him well in the days to come. He fantasized many things in that moment, forcing to his mind the sexual advantage that he bore over the unconscious Pamela Isley, and considered for a long moment as to whether or not he would follow through on them…

_No, no… there will be so much time for that later. For now, get Alissa Jagner out of this place. The work on her must begin soon. _

Nodding, content with his explorations for the night, Jason Woodrue dressed and left Pamela in her bed, stepping out into the night with confidence in his stride and a smile of victory on his face. The Floronic Man was alive and well tonight.


	21. Chapter 21

The music blared all around Selina Kyle with merciless, ear-pounding delight. It gave her a headache, listening to this New Age Rockateering crap that the youngsters were coming out with these days. It sounded like someone farting down a bullfrog's throat. Still, at least the place _smelled_ nice: musty cigars and beer breath. Her kind of shithole.

Fortunately her business in this dinky club would be brief. She could already see Luigi Rubacchiare up on a balcony, speaking in swift Italian with another man, who kept his face hidden in the shadows. In Gotham, business in the shadows was business left alone. She tapped her fingers impatiently against the table top, frowning as a couple down the bench from her became more and more ravenous with their quest to devour one another's faces. It must have been the life goal of both to eat the flesh of the others, to gain courage or knowledge or some shit like that.

Sighing, she glanced up at the distant bar, behind which was a grand array of neon colored spirits. A nice Valentine Plum could help her tolerance with this place amplify… but she wanted to get out of here quickly, and needed a level head tonight. She had a mission.

Luigi, a scrawny little Italian fucker in leather, finally bowed to the man in the shadows and took to the staircase, running over to meet her with a wide grin upon his face.

"Cat," he grinned as he leapt onto the bench beside her, breathing excitedly. "We're in."

"How delightful," Selina cooed, her face showing anything but delightfulness. She, after all, wanted out of this club, and was not too happy with Luigi's choice of a meeting spot. However, as Luigi had put it (and rightfully so, she had to acknowledge), a place like this, filled with worshipers of the dance and substance, would guarantee security with their conversation. In this club, no one cared. At all. As if to demonstrate that fact, the two face-eaters were not sprawled across the bench… and it looked as if the drunken man was no longer interested in eating the face…

"Our friend gave me everything we needed," Luigi assured her, holding up before her a small flash drive. "You have the top?"

"The what?"

"The laptop. Sorry. _Ragazzi questo posto essere un buco. Dispiacere." _

Selina smirked. She liked it when he talked in his native tongue. It was so cute, like a little lost meatball. She pulled a black laptop from a travel bag at her side and set it neatly upon the table, opening it up to the desktop. A picture beamed back at her from behind the icons. Her hair had been long and flowing when this picture had been taken, sleek and black-blue, her summer dress the color of the grass around her and the man who sat with her on the picnic blanket as they enjoyed Gotham Park. Bruce Wayne had been a tacky dresser that day, sporting a "Gotham Rogues" t-shirt and those stupid camouflage flip-flops. But that date had been magical… She could forgive him for not knowing how to dress on a real date. He looked much better in his armor and mask anyway…

"So… am I allowed to know who this man is?" she demanded, taking the drive from him and plugging it into a port. "Information from a man in the shadows is a little questionable."

"He calls himself 'Irish.' He said that's all I needed to know. He sounded anything but Irish, too. More like… Russian or something. But he checked out. Apparently he's done business in Gotham before. Man knows things and always delivers on the information he gives."

"So, then… let me see what he has to give, then." She opened up the flash drive, and saw only two files: a word document called **A.B. **, and a JPEG labelled **NeedToKnow**. **NeedtoKnow** was a blueprint of a condominium, with one of the top rooms marked with a red dot. The file was just as interesting. Inside, a woman's photograph was the first thing to be seen. Pretty face, pretty hair, this woman, this "Anassa Blackwood," she looked like a model, or a socialite. Her eyes glowed magnificently green, her ruby red lips crafted into a fine smile indeed. Below this photograph was information. What she did, where she was based, what kind of businesses she worked with… She was content with understanding her enemies. Apparently she was the CEO of Windstar Corporation, a pharmaceutical company based in Europe, and one of the close ranking competitors to Wayne Enterprises and the Umbrella Corporation. She was also, apparently, a famous ballerina in the United Kingdom and the United States, affiliating herself with the "Hormonal Butterflies" and even the "Circuit of Fairies." So, Miss Pretty Face was both a queen and a ballerina. She was everything little girl's fantasy.

But she was also dangerous. Even without reading the segments of the file concerning her aptitude for martial arts and her connections with the NRA, Selina would have been able to tell this. It was the eyes. Selina herself had the same eyes. There was a look one got that never left them once there. This woman had it, deep down in her pretty little jades…

"Business in Gotham unknown. Spied hanging about the old observatory." Selina nodded. Gotham only had one "old observatory." She continued reading. The information detailed the condominium hotel that she was currently staying at, the room number… everything that was to be known about the woman's current residence in Gotham was in this file. And Selina was satisfied… because tonight she would finally have the answer that she had sought for so long.

She could still remember, even now, the mail that had come to her suite that night, dropped into her box when no mail ought to be dropped. The envelope had been crimson. The name upon it: **Mai Tabnam. **This had been the most important letter she had received in her life. The letter that made all other letters meaningless. Mai Tabnam… Bruce had told her a long time ago that she was a part of his life. He had told her that, despite her regular grievances, he trusted her with his own life. She had called him a moron. He had smiled. She had slapped him. He had nodded. There was just breaking him. Not Bruce. He had told her something important. Something that he insisted she always, always remember.

"Batman isn't enough. Not for this job. Neither is Bruce Wayne. Selina, I need you to remember the name 'Mai Tabnam.' Because if you ever see that name… you'll know I'm calling."

Mai Tabnam. One of his aliases, an anagram of 'I am Batman.' And this letter had come to her, _her_, after almost a year… a year since Bruce Wayne's body had been discovered on the shores of Los Angeles… a year since autopsy information had been denied to the public… a year since the Batman's disappearance…

A letter from Mai Tabnam meant only one thing: Bruce was alive, and he was trying to contact her. For what, she had had no clue. If he was alive, why not reveal himself… unless he was in a position that made doing so impossible. But he had managed, somehow, beyond all rationality, to get a letter to her. And inside that letter, a single sheet of paper, with a name and a few words: **Anassa Blackwood. Tell Alfred. **What had mystified her beyond all things else had been his words. First, the sheet of paper he had used could have had so much more written upon it, and yet he had only written that. Something had put him in a hurry, and this meaningless garbage had been all he had been able to write. Second, "tell Alfred?" Why? Why Alfred? Pennyworth was Bruce's servant, of course, and his aide during Bruce's rooftop crusades… but why Alfred and not, say, Robin, who darted along the rooftops in his place these days (using that dreadful name 'Nightwing')? And what exactly what she was supposed to tell Alfred Pennyworth, anyway? "Anassa Blackwood?" What exactly was that to tell the old man? That name meant nothing to her… did it mean something to Alfred?

She had kept the letter to herself, and began her own investigation, feeling anger with Bruce for his lack of help… but then, had it been Bruce at all? Had it truly been Bruce? Her investigation had led her to discovering that Anassa Blackwood was a famous science queen, but no criminal record to her name…

And then, one day, Luigi had come to her. She had paid Luigi to ask around his snope-scapes in Gotham. Luigi had connections, and knew where to find the right kind of people with the right kind of information. He had come to her and told her that a woman named Anassa Blackwood was to visit Gotham City… and that his contact could help her locate this woman.

She wanted the truth. Whatever had happened to Bruce, Anassa Blackwood was somehow involved. In what way, she did not know… but Selina Kyle was great at persuading people to talk. Her claws were already sharpened…

"Fancy place," Selina commented, smiling softly to herself. "It would be a shame if someone were to break in and clean the place out from this _rich_ CEO…"

"Are you sure about this, Cat?" Luigi's voice shook. "I'm not so sure this woman is a pretty butterfly."

"And I'm not just a kitten," Selina sighed, kissing Luigi on the cheek. "I'm actually quite a lioness… a tiger, even. A panther. Whatever she is, she'll know that soon enough."

Anassa Wesker lay sprawled across the condominium's queenly bed, draped in a silky purple gown, an open box of Maroni's pizza to one side, a glass of red grape wine on the other. A laptop blared before her, balanced out by the dim light of the bedside lamp, and across the room, the television gave her company as she typed report after report into the Windstar Online Database. On top of working alongside Dr. Woodrue, she still had her corporation to manage. Luna Tyke, her assistant, had been happy enough to keep the pharmaceutical company flowing naturally during Chairman Anassa's absence, but even so, the girl was young and barely out of college. She was a genius, of course, but a hardheaded one at times. The girl had a temper, and had still not shown Anassa the proof that she could handle blockheads who wanted to alter previous negotiations without screaming at them in fits of rage.

But it mattered little. Day by day, Lasetta Rilee was showing Anassa a more crystal clear future for her company and Umbrella's. The girl could not articulate so many more things. Anassa had begun with the basics: teaching Lasetta new ways to doodle on the ground, moving to sketchbooks and markers with confidence. She wanted to bolster Lasetta's creative capacities, allowing her to become more resilient to new ideas and explorations, opening up the neural pathways to accept exterior injections. Each time Woodrue would bring Lasetta out of containment and into the testing rooms, he would inject her with the Aterium hormone and monitor Lasetta's antigen responses. Predictably, the Aterium was being burned away… but after Anassa's creative interference, this process began to slow down, putting up less resistance and allowing neural stimulation for Lasetta to adapt to the hormone little by little. The stimulated neurons would show improvement over time, she was sure. And so was Woodrue. He had kept his word about staying in the dark when it came to his observations. Anassa had placed hundreds of little black cameras around the greenhouse, helping Woodrue set up a connection in his monitoring room so that Lasetta could become more aware to isolation from him and more open to the insistences of Anassa.

Within a week, Lasetta was comprehending basic math, such as 2+1 equalling 21… 21 indeed, Lasetta, 21…

On the television screen, another source of interest for Anassa was currently being discussed. A news reporter in a maroon suit was frantically describing a most exciting scene before him. A fish packaging factory, it seemed, had been set aflame on the east docks. Apparently, even now, there was a fierce gunfight going on between Gotham's finest and a band of the Joker's thugs. Woodrue had informed her that very evening that the Joker was going to put the Leviathan to a test run, a practice for the true attack that he planned on Gotham. As such, Anassa wanted to make sure that what she had provided to the Joker would do exactly as it was intended to do…

"Jan, I don't know what exactly is going on, but things are out of control. There seem to be screams coming from inside of the factory, which has led first responders to believe that there may be live hostages caught in the spreading fire. Members of the Gotham City Fire Department are putting up a fight now, trying to put the flames out for a possible infiltration, but it is highly unlikely at this point that anyone caught in there will survive. The smoke levels are rising drastically by the minute and-wait-wait-yes-" The reporter had a hand to the headset he wore, and Anassa turned her full attention to the screen now. "Yes… um hm…" He suddenly looked excited, but tried to maintain a professional form. "Alright, I've just gotten word that the Nightglade has been spotted. The Nightglade has been spotted and is moving in now."

Anassa frowned. Nightglade?

The cameraman was focusing on a shot to the west, and suddenly, something fast flew into view, speeding like a bullet towards the burning factory. It was something like a black jet, except that it seemed to have a third wing on the top of it, shaped like a crescent moon, and three glowing, bright blue engines roared from behind.

_Interesting. I wonder if this is-_

"Nightwing has just arrived on the scene. I say again, Nightwing has just arrived on the scene."

_Nightwing…so this is him. _Anassa was very pleased about getting to witness this broadcast. She had heard the stories, of course, and the truth from Albert, naturally. When Albert had taken Bruce Wayne from the clutches of Dr. Woodrue, and had internationally faked the death of Bruce Wayne, so too had come the disappearance of Batman. This had, of course, led to widespread questioning: Just why had Batman vanished around the same time as Bruce Wayne? However, whatever true conspiracy theories had developed from this instance, they had quickly been washed away by the arrival of a new face: a man named Nightwing. Nightwing, rightly so, as the two Weskers knew, was televised to be Robin, Batman's former apprentice prior to the Bat's death. This was all speculation, of course. A new suit was an aesthetic, not a trickery.

There had been a few times, she had to admit to herself, that she wanted to visit the famed Wayne Manor and speak with Alfred Pennyworth, a fellow Brit and kindred spirit to the understanding of duty. How she longed to tell Pennyworth the truth concerning Bruce Wayne. It had hit the public hard enough, knowing about the "death" of Bruce Wayne… But in all of the interviews with GCN, CNN, ABC, FOX… in all of them, Pennyworth had always shown a brilliant display of calmness and confidence, almost. His eyes, old and trained, spelled many secrets to those who could see and feel them. Secrets that said, "I believe what I will. Not what you say has happened…" It felt odd to look at those old eyes and feel as if Pennyworth knew an inkling of truth: that his master was not, in fact, dead.

She watched as "Nightwing" dropped down from his hovering craft and into the blazing inferno. Such impulsiveness, she regarded. There was no way he was going to withstand her virus… especially in a hellfire that was crumbling all around him. Nightwing would be dead before the night was over, and she shrugged, sipping her wine and smiling a little. Idiots deserved to die, so she felt nothing for this foolish Batman worshiper. Her virus would succeed. Her virus would conquer Nightwing.

_But what if it doesn't? What if he somehow finds a way to bring it down?_

Nah. The Leviathan was perfected, she knew. It would do its job, if threatened. But even if Nightwing did survive this encounter, it meant little to her. She cared not whether he lived or died. He was not her enemy, not yet. Perhaps when Lasetta began _her _attack… yes, perhaps then… if he survived…

She quickly opened up Skype, and set the webcam to call Luna. She needed to check in with the other project…

As she waited for a connection, she drained her wine and reached down to pour herself another glass. At first, she did not notice anything peculiar outside of the window. Nothing at all. From her window, one could behold the majesty of the busy metropolis below, vibrant in color and chaos. She saw not the brisk movement of any animal walking across the ledge. Her focus was upon the two screens before her, and the glass of wine. She saw not the little walking black spheres, so miniscule on the darkened, exterior sill, wound up like little bomb-ombs, watching her through the little cameras that were their bodies… Nor did her heightened senses pick up the smell of beer and sweat. There was just…no reason for Anassa to believe that anything outside of the window was watching her at that exact moment…

On television, something was happening. The side of the main factory chamber exploded, sending chunks of flaming debris in every direction, and screams filled the night. People began running in every direction. There was Nightwing, running for the river, and pursuing him…

Not the Joker's thugs. Well, perhaps one of them…

What pursued Nightwing definitely _had_ been one of the Joker's thugs. Massive bulk like three overgrown elephants, its body was titan-like. It stood at what Anassa estimated to be thirty feet in length, a giant creature of muscled perfection. Its skin was the yellow color of a ripe lime, its veins bulging and pumping with the Leviathan virus. Grand tentacles were its bulky hands, its head like a bulls, except for it had many, many horns for its face and two staring, bloodshot eyes that seemed to be bleeding something black and corrosive, sizzling against the ground as it dripped. Its body was humanoid, its feet like a bird's. This abomination pursued Nightwing on all fours when it ran, chasing him onto the docks near Gotham River. The cameraman was desperately trying to follow the ensuring battle, watching as Nightwing began to toss explosive after explosive at the creature. The little black balls bounced off of its thick, scaly hide and only slowed the creature, but never stopped it.

A police boat was coming into view, and was firing off a machine gun from its starboard side. The bullets bounded uselessly off of its hide as much as Nightwing's mini-bombs had. All the while, the Joker's thugs were still relentlessly spraying the surrounding area with gunfire and grenades… The carnage was exciting and left Anassa feeling breathless at the furiosity of it all. She wished she could be there, to see it up close…

"Ma'am?"

Anassa looked down. Luna Tyke was on her screen and staring at her dutifully from the office back in Ireland. Japanese in heritage, but raised in Portland, Luna Tyke was a stunning example of Japanese-American décor, her slightly narrowed eyes and orangey-skin smooth and dimpled. Only her hair seemed out of place: it was dyed denim blue, and she wore bright lavender contacts. She had a liking for sea foam lipstick, and was wearing it even now, early as it was over there. To a stranger, Luna looked like some rebellious college nobody with a disregard for social appearance and professionalism. But Anassa knew better. She knew how intelligent and resourceful Luna was, and had no doubt about the young woman's watchful eye over Windstar. She just…had her quirks.

Anassa grinned at Luna, waving, and excitedly spun the laptop around so that it was facing the television. "Look, Luna… look at that." Anassa was pleased with her virus's work and wanted to share the glory with her young friend. Luna made sounds of approval, and when Anassa craned her head around to see the scree, she was satisfied to see Tyke smiling.

"Excellet," Luna noted. "This will make for an efficient test. Should I send you more samples, ma'am?"

"Actually, yes, you should," Anassa replied, punching the air in triumph. The large creature was wadding through the river, going right for the police boat. Behind it, Nightwing was shouting something into his arm, desperately tossing the little explosives after the beast, but the creature was moving too fast… The gunfire on the boat had ceased, and the officers were abandoning ship just as the creature overtook the boat, sending up a massive, crashing tidal wave… Anassa was pleased. She had unleashed this beast upon Gotham, and now its people would know her power… even if they themselves did not know whose power they knew. This city was a disgusting place, with disgusting souls, and it needed a good cleansing. What was some murder and mayhem here and there? It was a good test run for the Leviathan. "Can you send me another fifteen?"

"They'll be there within the morning," Luna promised, already typing away commands into her computer. "What about Albert? Anything for him?"

"Actually, Luna, I need you to do something for me…" Anassa's voice shook with excitement. "I'm actually needing you to come to Gotham."

Luna stopped typing on the other end, her eyes widening as she stared. "G-Gotham?"  
"Yes, love. You should see this hellhole. It's actually quite lovely in the appropriate places. I need your help with the experiment, and you possess certain… characteristics that could be useful."

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

Anassa smiled. "Your immunities, dear. I need your immunities. I have observed Lasetta closely, every day, and I believe I may have found a solution to one of our biggest obstacles."

"Ma'am?"

"The poisons her body constantly expels… the spores… I believe that your antibodies could create a powerful anti-poison, Luna. The clinical runs using your antibodies from last year seem adequate enough to create an anti-poison."

"To what magnitude, though?" Luna sounded stunned. She certainly looked it. "The poison in Lasetta ate through Woodrue's strongest hazard suits…"

"Well of course it did. The acidic levels are overwhelmingly potent, but the material reactions have varied. I believe that using your antibodies, we can suppress the potency of her spores, enough, even, to allow someone to get very, very close to her."

"Or we could kill her," Luna pointed out, frowning. "My antibodies could kill her. You realize that?"

"I doubt it. Her body has surpassed even Progenitor in terms of adaptability and strength. The antibodies will not kill her… as a matter of fact, I'm quite convinced that nothing less than blunt force trauma or a bullet could harm that girl. She is a walking immunity to toxins and poisons, to disease and viral aliens… I know. I've poisoned her already with some of the most lethal chemicals."

"Have you?"

"Arsenic, ricin, Madredene extract… she had adapted to all, efficiently so. I laced the candies that I gave to her with a wide variety of toxins. Oh, you should have heard Albert…" She giggled. "He was so pissed with me when I told him, and he even threatened to tell Woodrue. But why should Woodrue care? He knew, as I knew, that Lasetta would survive it. I would not put the girl's life in danger if I was not one-hundred percent sure that-"

_CRASH_. Anassa jumped, startled by the sudden shattering of glass. A small plume of flame and smoke erupted forward as the windows was blasted apart, leaving a grand hole indeed that looked out into the metropolitan night. The laptop fell off of the bed, and Luna began calling out to her boss in concern. Anassa, crouched upon the floor like a cat, settled herself straight up, ready for anything.

The real cat was actually coming through the window now. The woman was, in Anassa's honest opinion, silly. Silly, perhaps a bit skank-like, as the Americans might put it. No, no… how did he own say it… 'Slapper…' 'Slag…' What did this woman think she was doing, crawling through the window like that, dressed from neck to toes in a sleek, black, tight leather outfit, not unlike something that Diana Rigg wore in that cruddy show. But this woman had gone beyond Emma Peel by adding dominoes-shaped goggles, the lenses crimson, with blades for stilettos and some weird, cat-eared helmet… This strange woman cartwheeled forward, thrashing a very long black whip in hand.

"Evening," she almost seemed to purr, wiggling her gloved fingers in a wave, and Anassa saw black claws suddenly shoot out of the fingers. Anassa smiled, impressed with this display. "Sorry to go off on you like this…" She raised the whip and slapped it hard against the distant wall. It cracked loudly like lightning. Still, Anassa smiled.

"Catwoman, right?" She walked over to the bar, where all manner of lovely champagne bottles awaited. "You've broken my window, Miss Kyle…"

Selina Kyle froze, her eyes widening from behind the goggles. Anassa chuckled quietly, quite pleased with the Cat's shock. She began to pour herself a glass of Crystal Grape. "Oh, sorry… were you not expecting me to know who you are?" She up-ended the glass in one go, and Selina moved in, closing the distance between herself and her prey. Anassa allowed her to place the tips of those steel claws against her neck, and stared into the enraged eyes behind the lenses.

"I'll make this simple, then," Selina hissed softly, though Anassa could tell she was still shaken. "You tell me where Bruce Wayne is being held, and I won't remove those pretty emeralds in your sockets."

"Are you quite sure, love?" Anassa whispered, tilting her head to the side. "Because I was under the impression that you never give up the chance to take gems and jewels. If you want your threat to become sincere, why not remove one eye and let me keep the other as insurance?"

And Anassa picked up Selina's hand, her speed inhuman as always, and she positioned the hand right in front of her left eyes. Selina was rooted with shock, her mouth shaking. She had not expected such speed from this woman. "There you are," Anassa said. "Now, prod. Poke my eye out and hand it to me. Right now."

Selina grimaced. "You're insane…"

"Pokey poke. Pokey poke." Anassa cooed softly, and then grinned. "No? Not going to follow through on your threat, love?"

"If you insist!" Selina did move her hand forward, and Anassa caught it so casually and so swiftly. And this time, she squeezed hard. Selina cried out in pain, feeling the bones and blood vessels in her wrist compressing and screaming, Anassa's grin dark and terrible. Selina lashed out with her feet hand, and Anassa backed away, moving her torso back slightly to avoid Selina's strike, but in doing so, her grip loosened on Selina's other hand, and the Cat broke free.

Selina went backwards, cartwheeling away and landing gracefully near the bed. All the while, Luna was still calling out from the laptop. Now she could see Selina from her vantage point.

"Who is this, Miss Anassa? Who is this woman?"

Selina, smirking, replied at once with a sharp kick at the screen. Her bladed stiletto impaled the laptop and the machine went dead at once. Anassa's smile faded. Now, she looked very annoyed.

"That was an MSI Titan that you just smashed, love," she said in a dangerous voice, picking up the bottle of champagne now. "It cost me $3,600."

"Eye surgery will cost you more," Selina breathed, crouching into a stance of combat, "unless you tell me where Bruce is. Now."

"Still rattling on about Bruce Wayne, love?" Anassa shook her head. "There are things in this world, love, best left alone."

"So… you do have him, then…." Selina's eyes glinted very, very dangerously. "I see… you've confirmed it, then." She flexed her claws. "Now I'm very, very pissed off. And you're not going to like what comes next."

Anassa took a large swig of the champagne, swallowed, and set the bottle down without taking her eyes off of the Cat. "Make me proud," she whispered.

She allowed Selina to move in first. Claws flew through the air, a kick of the leg and a flash of the whip. All of this in one beautiful, graceful move. _Like a fairy in the Nutcracker_, thought Anassa. Selina almost had her, but Anassa simply sidestepped and retaliated casually, slapping Selina in the back of the head.

Selina cried out, falling forward into the bar… and that was when bottle after bottle began to crash off of the table, slamming into one another upon the floor and flooding the carpet in the luscious rivers of red and black…

Anassa's heart sunk. This Catwoman had broken the alcohol bottles. _The alcohol. _

"And now I'm pissed," she hissed venomously. She went at Selina in style now, throwing a high spin-kick at the Cat's head. Selina ducked beneath the fierce, fast blow, her breathing intensified. _If that leg had collided with my head…_

Anassa, however, stayed the attack fluidly, first punching into the wall, where Selina quickly dodged and rolled to the right, then leaping backwards as Selina returned a clawed punch for the abdomen. Selina kept her own pursuit up, throwing punch after punch at Anassa's head and chest. Anassa, naturally, blocked her each time, but became more and more pleased with just how quickly the woman moved, and how fiercely she threw each punch, her face remaining calm and her stance perfect, bending in the appropriate ways to ensure protection around vital points.

This woman was truly skilled, and Anassa liked skilled women. Too bad that this skilled woman had smashed her bar. That was unforgivable. She leapt like a lion, thusly, at this Cat and prepared to do some clawing of her own, vengeful for the fallen liquor and the interruption of the newscast (the television had been blown apart by the explosives). Any moment now, hotel security would be moving in. She wanted to have a dead body to show that she had handled the mess. The infamous Catwoman, dead at last. She would be a hero in Gotham.

But Selina dodged her leap and spun about upon the ground, aiming a kick that Anassa had not seen coming. It made contact with her back, and Anassa actually felt herself stumbled forward, and the slightest of pains shooting through her body. _Ouch… _Selina was on her from behind, thrashing her whip forward. It was around Anassa's neck in a flash. Anassa actually felt it difficult to breathe when this happened, and Selina began to pull her backwards with the whip.

"Where is Bruce!?" the woman was demanding, her voice seeping with venom. "Where is he!? Tell me and I'll leave you here. You're good! You're really good! You deserve to make it through this night with your body intact… if you tell me where Bruce is now!"

Anassa stopped struggling, closing her eyes and concentrating. How? How did this woman know that she knew anything about Bruce Wayne's current location? That alone was beyond impressive. She needed to know more.

"I'll tell you…" Anassa strained at last, feigning submission. "I'll tell you, if you tell me something…"

Selina thrust a powerful kick forward, her stiletto sheathing as she did, and Anassa went falling forward, into the bed, crashing into the lamp as she went. The room went dark indeed, but Selina was already flicking on the room switch. From the other side of the door, a pounding could be heard, along with some shouting, irritated voice. "What's going on in there!?" it screamed.

Selina ignored it, and instead slapped the whip against the wall again, standing over Anassa, who sat against the headboard of the bed and concentrated on her opponent.

"Tell me something, love," Anassa breathed, pushing her wild hair out of her eyes. She was in a right state. Her chest was heaving. "How did you know about Bruce?"

"So you _are_ admitting it!?" Selina clenched her teeth, and pointed one clawed index at Anassa's face. "Where!?"

"First you tell me how… then I'll consider telling you something in return."

Both sets of eyes narrowed. Selina, now truly paying attention, realized that Anassa Blackwood's eyes were no longer green… somehow, during the fight, they had changed. Now, they burned…orange. Orangey-red, actually. And those pupils… they were no longer round, but vertical! Her eyes seemed to have some kind of fire burning within! She was not human…

Of course she was not. The way she moved, the fierceness of her strike… Selina's body still ached, and she struggled not to betray this to Blackwood.

"I have f-friends!" Anassa hissed. "I have friends… who know things. Now where is Bruce!"

"What friends, love?"

"ANSWER ME!" The whip cracked again. Anassa could tell that Selina Kyle was getting extremely off-balance. This was true anger, true wrath: the anger of a lover. Bruce was Kyle's lover… and Kyle wanted him back.

"Bruce, love?" Anassa smiled, pulling a few shards of glass from her tangles. "He's fine. He's alive… for now."

"Where-is-he!?"

"Safely tucked away… for now. If you want to see him, love… perhaps I could arrange something."

Selina leered. "What?"

Anassa sighed. "You'll see for yourself, love… your speed, your strength, your endurance… I admire it. I admire what you've shown me this evening. I think I could put that skill to some real use."

"What do you mean?"

Anassa smiled sadly, and sighed again. Then, she leapt to her feet. Selina raised the whip, ready to strike again, but Anassa raised an arm. In one hand, she held a shard of glass from the broken television. Now, she sliced forward. A small cut into her wrist… and suddenly, she was flinging her blood right at Selina! But this was no ordinary blood… it flamed. It flamed, burning brightly and true. Fire! She had fire for blood!

Selina's whip caught aflame at once, and she dropped it in shock… but even as she did, Anassa moved forward and struck upward, arcing into a clean uppercut. Selina Kyle went out at once, her world blackening as she was thrown across the room, slamming into the wall, where she crumpled upon the floor in a miserable mess…

Anassa popped her neck loudly. What an irritation.


	22. Chapter 22

When Pamela Isley awoke from the deepest, most isolating sleep she had experienced in such a long while, she found herself nude, covered from head to toe in long strands of what appeared to be Boston ivy, and Woodrue gently asleep beside her. She did not brush the ivy off of her (which, she assumed, had been a "gift" to her, from him), but instead turned on her side and watched him sleep, frowning as her head slightly twanged. She felt disoriented in the mind, drunken by some form of stupor, as if she had had much to drink in the past night. No memory of ever falling asleep occurred to her… and little memory of events from last night remained.

She could remember the sex. She could remember the talk, too. Bits of both, really. Nothing concrete in fullness. But her body remembered. She warmed up considerably as she gazed upon the sleeping man who had brought such joy into her life in such a short amount of time. It was Sunday now, and the light creeping in through the window told her that morning was awakening along with her.

The room was a mess, to be sure. Blankets disordered, clothes scattered everywhere, sweat sewn into the fabrics… a night of the ultimate, it had been. Whatever had gone on, whatever had been lost to her, she would make Jason recount every last sensual detail. And then the planning would begin. The planning would commence for their battle initiation… or, hell, they could just go to the bowling alley or Gotham Amusements. Something about this man reminded her that she was allowed to have a life outside of her bounty hunting.

She watched and stared at the sleeping man for minutes upon minutes, basking in the sight of his handsome features, his darkly skin and sweet, sweet lavender scent… and remembered his story. He and his sister Pampadora had been close. Pampadora, a genius, had understood plants and shown them grand love and tender care, and had removed Jason's parents as an obstacle when they were dragging him away from his destiny… She wanted to know more about Pampadora. It seemed crucial to understand where Jason Woodrue had come from, and what drove his purpose.

When she had had her fill, she decided to dress. Today was a day for a public outing indeed, and she wanted to look her best. She casually glanced into the corner of the room. Archibald Helan's head lay decomposing on the floor, and the smell was quite strong, now that her senses returned to her in her awakened state. She had kicked the head off of the bedside table to have better privacy with her love, Jason… and now found the presence of the head _disorienting_. Oh Archie, you party pooper. She made her resolve. Fetching a plastic garbage bag from the kitchen, she wrapped the head up and decided that she would dispose of it. She still had the rest of the body. The secret warehouse building near the Diamond Docks held many things for Pamela Isley. She had taken to collecting things and storing them away in secret there, and only she had the key. Archie's body was preserved well enough in that warehouse. She did not need the head for the future display that she would build…

_Wow… sometimes, I feel like I'm a psycho or something. _

Anywho to any do, she skipped about, swinging the bag to and fro, pondering what should be done about this noble head. Otto Rock and Donavon Ventimago both came to mind as she swung Archie's remains about. So much time had passed since that night…sometimes she forgot that they still existed, and were still out there. Rock had previously been made coach's assistant on the football team, and Donovan's family had paid a large donation to the athletic department to maintain new, more efficient equipment. Both of them had been named in the news, and yet… and yet she had forgotten her purpose. Her goal. Archie could not remain dead alone. He had to be joined. Otto and Donovan had to join him.

_That's just it, isn't it? That's what I want to do today. I want to murder one of them. Yes… yes, I think that will make for a nice Sunday. _

But where to find them? She had already gone back to the farm where she had been mutilated. They had moved out long ago. A new family lived there, a happy one with happy chicks and happy pigs. She had no idea where Otto Rock lived now… but she knew where Donovan lived. He was still a god of the Rapture Suites, just off campus property. An apartment complex of queens and kings. But so much had happened to distract her from her mission. Woodrue, the success of the poisoned lipstick, the maintenance of Alissa…

_Alissa… _

She needed to feed Alissa. She had completely forgotten to check in on the woman after the two of them had gotten home. Alissa needed to be fed, and changed into decent clothes. As quietly as she could, Pamela tiptoed away, down the basement stairs with Archie in one hand, and a bag of gumballs in the other. Maybe Alissa would eat these…

Alissa was gone. Alissa was not there. Archie and the gumballs clattered to the floor, and Pamela's shriek was grand enough to awaken the dead.

"NO!" She desperately pulled apart Alissa's nest, thinking that perhaps the girl was just hiding under a table or such… but Alissa was gone! She was nowhere in that damp, stinky basement. Pamela's heart began to thunder in a series of frantic beats, her breathing intensifying, utter terror overwhelming her. She began to pull at her red locks, her teeth gritted into a terrible rage. No, no, no, no… this was not happening. This could _not_ be happening!

She fell to her knees, her hands shaking wildly as she begged a prayer to Mother Earth: "Let me find her! Let me find her! Let me find her! Oh, Spirit, oh, Mother, let me find her!"

"Ivy?"

Pamela spun around. Jason was standing at the top of the stairs… good old Jason. He was still nude, still beautiful, still god-like… but his face was filled with deepest concern. She could not help it. She threw herself at the top of the stairs and began to cry.

"J-Jason… Jason…"

Woodrue smiled kindly. "Do not be alarmed, Ivy. Do not be alarmed at all."

"You don't understand… don't understand…" And she reached into the corner of the room and pulled something from a toolbox. It was a box cutter. She pushed out the little blade and held it before her, grimacing. "I'm sorry, Mother… I'm sorry, Mother…" She sniffled loudly as she cut into the flesh of her arm. Woodrue, frowning deeply and sprinting down the stairs, cried out, "What in the blazes are you doing!?"

He yanked the cutter from her grasp as she sliced through her skin, shaking as she looked up at her, his penis wiggling about in her face… but now was not the moment for adoration. This was a time for suffering, a time for acknowledging one's failure.

"G-give it back!" she begged, slamming her fists upon the floor, her hair cascading over her face. "I failed Mother… I failed Mother…"

Woodrue tossed the cutter away and yanked Pamela to her feet, shaking her wildly as he forced her to make eye contact. Het wet green eyes dripped as she stared into his brown windows.

"What-is-wrong-with-you!?" Woodrue demanded, and he felt the urge to slap her. Blood was dribbling down from her arm and onto the floor. Pamela, however, miserable in the face, bowed her head, her lip trembling.

"She escaped," she whispered. "Alissa escaped…"

Woodrue nodded. He had figured as much that this was what had set her off. "As a matter of fact, she has not."

Pamela jerked her head up, her eyes wide. "W-what?"

"Alissa Jagner, your prisoner, has not escaped, Ivy. She is in special custody. _My_ custody."

Pamela's heart leapt… and it was not necessarily a good leap, either. She stared at him, disbelieving… even angry. "What!?"

"I took her, in the night. She has been transported away. She was dying in filth and vileness. Her conditions were beyond unsanitary."

"Where is she!?" Pamela demanded, and her hands shot forward. They were around his throat in an instant. Woodrue found himself surprised by her speed… and equally surprised that she did not squeeze, which to him, defeated the purpose of having them there to begin with.

"She is safe. I've taken her to my home, Ivy, and cleaned her up. She's being cared for by friends. You realize that she would have died, the state she was in, had she continued to stay down there in your basement."

Pamela jerked away, her throat bubbling in anguish, and she turned away from him, hands slamming down upon her work table. A beaker of highly poisonous, liquefied hemlock crashed onto the floor… but she did not move. Woodrue yanked her away as the poison flooded about the area where she had been standing.

"Come on," he insisted, pushing her towards the staircase, "this room is deadly for you right now."

Deadly? Deadly, he had said? _She_ was deadly… she could do anything she wanted to do right now… like poison _him_. And so she ran up the stairs and away from him, blinking back angry, angry tears. What did he mean, he had Alissa moved!? What in the hell did he mean that he had taken her to be cared for by friends!? What friends!?

When Woodrue reached the summit, he found her throwing on a summer dress, hands shaking in poisonous rage. She gave him a deadly look.

"I should kill you now…" She raised her hand. The spray bottle of Mortrius extract aimed to sap away his life. Her expression was so hate-filled, so monstrous and venomous… and to him, sexy. He grinned.

"Why, Poison Ivy… you wouldn't…"

She would. She was not thinking. She was not comprehending his usefulness or the night she had just spent with the man. She was lost, snapped into rage that bore no comprehension. She sprayed…

…and sprayed, and sprayed, and sprayed. Each time Pampadora squired the bottle of green liquid, a new flower budded to life from its lonely little black pod. Young Jason sat upon his sister's bed, clapping with utter delight each time she produced new life… and Pampadora swelled with joy. Her brother's laughter was gold. It was her own personal delight.

"You try," she offered, handing the bottle to him. And he sprayed. And sprayed. He felt god-like and powerful, growing flower after flower with this magic spray. He had become the Creator in that moment, the Lord of the Earth! And Pampadora… Pampadora cheered and clapped each time he grew something new. Now, the long, rectangular pot was filled with abundant life, sunflowers of green and pink, poinsettias of blue… nothing natural, merely perfect. It broke the rules of nature… and they were both fine with that.

They were together. It was a fine time to be…fine.

He laid across the bed, snuggled into his sister's arms, who held him close and brushed his hair with her hand, humming the soft melody of "Heartbreak Hotel" into his ear. She wanted his closeness. His. He, a thirteen year old boy of wide, curious eyes, and her, a twenty-one year old goddess in body and mind. They were a union unbreakable. Unsinkable ships sailed the loveliest.

She smelled so good. Her scent was heaven to his flaring nostrils. It was like lavender in the deepest bloom. Lavender would always be his favorite, forever and ever, because _she_ had once idolized it as her favorite. And whatever Pampadora said went.

Tall, slender, blonde… she was perfection to his sights. He felt so much lesser than her… so much in his life of degradation. He was nothing beside her. He was air. She was everythingness. And yet she held him still… yet she held him close and loved him, and he could feel every single insistence of that love.

"What do you want to do when you leave the house, Jason?" she asked him, kissing the back of his head. Jason considered the goddess's question. She deserved only the best response.

"To fulfill the dream that we share," he answered in a dignified, firm tone, his heart beating rapidly… "The dream of a thriving planet."

"My dream, then… I see. And how would you accomplish our dream, Jason?"

"By following you, sister. By following every step you take, and doing what you tell me to do."

Pampadora smiled. He could feel that smile on the back of her head as her lips pressed into his hair. Those perfect, perfect lips… How he wanted to brush his own against them, and taste her perfection for himself. She heated his blood. She heated his soul. But he knew that he could never touch her. He was too imperfect, by a marginal degree, of course, but still enough. Rationalizing a 150% perfection rate for Pampadora Woodrue, he theorized at thirteen that his current capacity of perfection was at a meager 143%, and that this was dismal indeed, polluting his worthiness to touch her like that beyond repair… for now. He would have to grow into something god-like to even begin to fathom touching her…

She hugged him tightly, loving him. He may die from his infatuation, if she did not release him soon… but she was the goddess, and it was not his right to complain, in an exterior or interior way.

"You'll do just fine," she whispered to him. "You'll do more than fine. I will see to it. I'll never let you go astray for that path. I'll never let anyone drag you down, ever again… _ever_ again."

She glanced nastily at the staircase landing beyond her bedroom door. Downstairs, still tied to the chairs in the kitchen, their veins filled with the potent concentrations of enhanced hemlock, their parents stared into nothingness forever. She would remove them, in time, but she wanted them to be there for a little while, so that Jason could be constantly reminded of how much she loved him, and how free he was now. She had cut out all of their photographs already, leaving only her and Jason in what few the two of them had taken together. There would have to be so many more. She wanted mountains of photographs of her and her brother. They must never, ever be apart.

And then, as she pondered their futures, she noticed the cut. It was a pathetic little cut, so small and already in the process of healing that one should not have noticed it at all. But there it was, staring her right the fuck in the face. It was shaped like a little crescent moon, and looked as if it had been deep when it first came to be.

"Jason," she whispered, her voice trembling, her heart pounding, "what is this cut on your neck?"

Jason, at first, did not answer. He was still lost in his own thoughts, his fantasies pleasurable to behold. His sister upon her throne of flowers… and he, worshiping at her feet… and dead, dead mom and dad, strung up in the trees, watching them and unable to stop them…

"Jason!" Her voice rang sharp and true, and his heart broke at once. He had made the goddess raise her voice to him! _Bastard Bastard Bastard! _He wanted to hit himself. He wanted to scratch himself.

"Goddess…?" He said the word aloud, and then remembered how she wanted him to call her by her name. "Pampadora…?"

"I asked you where the cut on your neck came from." Her voice was so quiet. So quiet.

He gulped. He knew where the cut had come from. It was a few days old, but he had not told Pampadora. She was too busy with things that mattered. Too perfect to concern herself with the affairs of mortals like him. But the goddess demanded answers, and he had to give them to her.

"The man at Yale and Strom." He shivered at the thought of the fat fuck with the stupid whip… that black whip, what with the crescent shaped metal piece on the end…

"Man… at the Yale and Strom?" Her voice had turned into a whisper now, and it shook. _NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! She can't be scared, or upset! NOT HER! NOT THE GODDESS! _"What man…?"

"The fat one… the stupid fat one, with the big nose and black beard…"

She thought only for a second, and nodded. Her eyes were colder than cold. They were frigid. True ice. The vacuum of space. "Milton Yale."

Jason nodded, wincing. Milton Yale, the man who had chased after him with the whip… and all Jason's crime had been was stealing a few pints of water. It had been a very, very hot day, the sun boiling him and the wind hiding from the heat. He had been out fishing, alone, near the Bridabell Pond, and after hours of catching nothing but flies and ants, he had come back onto the road that passed near Adamsville Village. He would always call Pampadora to come and pick him up, using the elderly Miss Smatch's telephone. She always gave him cookies when she did this.

But he had just been so thirsty… and he had not brought his pocket change with him that day…

_I'm sorry!_ he had begged as the pints were whipped out of his hands, cascading onto the dirty floor at his feet. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_

_ Ye little fooker. Stealin my sheet._ Yale had a stupid accent. Jason could never tell if the old fuck was from England or Mexico, but what he did know was that the fatso was ugly, smelled like garbage and had the temper of a mama bear in heat.

He had whipped Jason good. So very good. And Jason… Jason had ran from that place, bawling his eyes out. He did not ask for Miss Smatch's phone that day. He had run, run, run, run, and then run some more. He remembered secluding himself out in the fields near the Timberly Farm, remembered seeing the old man driving about on his crimson Massey-Harris 20… remembered the fear in that moment. But he could not tell Pampadora, because Pampadora would get really, really angry, and he did not want her getting really, really angry.

She was really, really angry. Holding him closer (was that even possible?), she whispered intently, "Why-did-he-hit-you?"

Jason smiled. He actually smiled. Her breath on his neck was ecstasy. For a thirteen year old boy, he felt like a man in that moment.

And so he told her why. He told her every detail, from how much the whipping had hurt to the smell of tuna that had so badly ranked the fatso. Pampadroa closed her eyes, exhaling deeply, her mind racing like a calculator. Calculating…calculating…

"Get dressed."

Those were her words. And her word was law. He did get dressed… and so did she. Gone went her summer gown, and on came something much, much better. The scarlet bodycon dress hug her body tightly, her long, curly blonde hair flowing beautifully down her back. Her heels, black as the night and shining. He had simply dressed in his farming clothes, the stupid suspenders making him look childish and lesser… but she took his hand gladly, and knelt before him, staring deeply into his eyes.

"From now on," she said to him, "I'm going to be your teacher. Answer me."

"Yes, Pampadora!" Jason piped up at once. She nodded, her expression suddenly cold. So very cold.

"And as your teacher," she continued, "I am going to instruct you. Teach you things about life that you need to know, Jason. Teach you things that you must know."

He nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. Was he worthy to learn? Was he worthy to know?

She led him downstairs, hand in hand, her heels clunking loudly against the mahogany floor. All the while, her expression remained so icy that Jason swore the house may freeze over at any moment… which would be suitable for all this stupid heat… but not so much for their plants…

Their first stop was at dead mother and father. Pampadora thumped daddy's forehead and gave the body a look of disgust. "Lesson number one," she said, "fuck them."

"Fuck them," Jason agreed, nodding loyally. Whatever she said went. Fuck their parents. Pampadora thumped mommy on the forehead now. "Lesson number two: especially her."

"I understand, Pampadora," Jason agreed, and he did. "Fuck her especially."

Pampadora nodded too, looking disdainful at the pair of them. "They paid for their ignorance with their lives. They held us both back, Jason. But never again. _Never_ again."

"Never again," Jason agreed. Was that lesson three? Never again? He wondered if he should ask. But Pampadora was not taking him by the hand and leading him away. They weren't finished with the day's lesson, not yet. In the car, Jason sat silently and attentively, waiting for Pampadora to tell him the next lesson. But she said nothing, her expression fierce and deadly as she punched on the radio, blasting classical into their awaiting ears. Beethoven was the only person in the car who spoke right now, and he spoke with non-verbal means. So much more fitting, too, Jason thought. The world was a happier place when people were silent. Except for Pampadora. He could listen to her speak forever. Mom and dad, though? They could not speak anymore. No more telling him he was tracking mud in the house, or that he was being a greedy little pig for getting into the Little Debbies… no more fucking bedtimes, either. Once Pampadora had removed their parents as an issue, she and Jason had stayed up all night, trashing the house, breaking windows apart and ripping up curtains. It had been so pleasurable. She had even let him hit mommy and daddy in the heads with a hammer. No candy had come out, of course…

_"Be wild, Jason_," she had instructed him then, "_be contagious." _

Whatever the hell that had meant, he had agreed. Now he just needed to know how to be both of those things. Well, he had reasoned, tearing up half the house had qualified as wild. But what about the contagious part? Was he supposed to sneeze in someone's dinner or something?

They drove right into Adamsville Village. Miss Smatch was watering her petunias. She gave a little wave at their car as they passed by, her eyes filled with concern. She had heard about Yale's attack on the boy… but no one seemed to care, save for her. Pampadora nodded curtly at her as she drove past, and Jason beamed a smile.

And what would you know? Yale himself was sitting on the porch of the store that he ran alongside Mr. Harold Strom. Milton Yale… what a pathetic man. But Jason was excited now, because he knew what was going to happen. Pampadora was going to give the fat fuck a talking to!

Pampadora pulled the car into the drive. Yale noticed them at once, and smirked. His expression said it all. _Come back for more, little prick? _it said.

Pampadora kissed Jason on the forehead. "Follow me, Jason."

_Yes ma'am! _

He followed her. He would follow her forever. By now, the afternoon was getting to its hottest point, and the streets were abandoned. This little country hole in the wall was practically a ghost town. They did not even have asphalt. It was all gravel and dirt. Milton tipped his Stetson to the vision of loveliness before him, and grinned at Jason, who was cowering behind his sister. Pampadora's expression never went warm until this moment… she smiled. But when Jason looked at that smile, he felt danger. This was not a happy smile. It was a narrow-eyed, plotting smile… the same smile she had worn when she had removed Mr. and Mrs. Woodrue from this life. It was a beautiful smile, and he cherished it so.

"Evenin," Milton burped. "Yer lookin fine this afternern, Merse Werdrer."

_To hell_, Pampadora thought, disgusted. _Can the man even speak right?_

"Milton Yale." When she said his name, she felt sick. "What are you doing, you ponderous gorilla, you?" She was not very creative at insults. A genius who could mutate the DNA of plants and flowers, who could jot down the intense system of trigonometry in seconds and predict what was going to be said next in a conversation with perfect accuracy… and her creativity was squandered at the sight of the grotesque man.

"Gerlla?" He burped. "Wassat?"

Pampadora had had enough. Already, she had. Not five fucking seconds. She shook her head.

"I want to purchase something," she said, jerking her head at the store. "And I want you to get it for me."

"Werta ya lookin fer?" Milton sighed and tossed his empty beer can aside. The fat bastard clambered to his feet, brushing his beard with a dirty hand. As if he could possibly win the affection of the goddess. Jason seethed with rage. But Pampadora was smiling now, and her eyes had widened. Jason knew this smile, too. It was the smile that had saturated her lips when she saw something that she could overcome… The two Woodrues followed the fat slob into the store. From down the street, little Miss Smatch watched from her window. _Finally, Yale's going to get his_, she thought. How right she was… even if she did not realize just how right, and in what way.

Milton spread his arms around the store, looking at her with ready eyes. "Well?" Pampadora chuckled. Finally, a word from his mouth that sounded somewhat comprehensible… but he still said it with a slur, so really it was more like, "Werl?"

She walked forward, and kicked the door shut with her heel. It slammed a little, the bells at the top jingling and jangling with delight. Jason leaned against the wall. Lesson time. Pampadora sized the man up, tapping her chin inquiringly. Milton was looking aggravated.

"Whaddya wernt!?" he demanded. "Erm on my break right now… wanna ged back ter my ber."

She was so repulsed by his accent. So was Jason. She shook her head sadly.

"Jason's neck," she began, "has a nasty cut on it." She stopped there, looking at him intently, waiting for him to respond. Jason was feeling elated. She was going to chew him the hell out. If only Jason realized in that moment just how much she was going to _chew_…

Milton nodded unapologetically. "Lertle shit stole frerm me. I warped him good."

"Yes, you did… but he's my brother, you see. He is my brother, and I his protective sister. Do you know what that means, Milton Yale?"

"Merns you need to get ert of mer ster, befer I werp you ter."

"Oh, you're going to hit me? You're going to hurt me?" She saddled up to him now, getting very, very close indeed. Too close for comfort, in Jason's eyes. She did not want him that to her… or vice versa.

"Lesson three, Jason," she said, not taking her eyes away from the bewildered, reddening Milton Yale, "if you don't like someone, hurt them." She was close enough to kiss him…

And… that's exactly what she did. Jason's heart erupted into pain and misery as he watched. Her hands were wrapped around his cheeks at once, and she was kissing the ugly, fat fuck with a wild passion, positively biting at him. The man looked so surprised… and his wide eyes turned to Jason with some kind of demented glee. They sparkled and sparkled…

And then, they went cold. Cold, and empty. His elation froze upon his face. His body jerked. Pampadora released him, and Milton Yale fell backwards, onto the floor, where he stared up at her in disbelief and shock… and that's all he did. Forever. His face did not move from that position. He could only _stare_ forward… and the rest of him refused to move too.

Pampadora exhaled deeply, wiping her mouth in disgust with a little black handkerchief from her bra. And Jason saw her red lipstick smear onto the handkerchief as she did. Her natural pink lips glistened, free from the red coating that she had adorned herself with. Still, Milton Yale did not move. Somehow, Jason knew that the man would never move again. Pampadora had made him still… just as still as mommy and daddy.

She offered a hand to her brother… and he took it. Jason stared down at the man with wide eyes.

"He's dead…" he whispered. Pampadora smiled.

"Almost," she corrected. She knelt down before Jason and stoked his cheek. He loved the way she touched him… "Paralyzed, actually. Atropine, from a nightshade cutting. A powerful, paralyzing poison, Jason. His heart is slowing…his breathing is leaving him. Soon, he will be so, so, so dead, Jason… And I want you to do something before he goes." She walked away from the stunned, silent Jason, and picked up something hanging from a nearby rack. The wonderful things you find at the local retail. It was a backsaw, and looked really, really dull. Perfect, in other words. She handed Jason the saw. He felt warmth and excitement rush through his body as he held the deadly weapon in hand, grinning up at her. _Now_ knew what the lesson was. If you don't like someone, hurt them! Better yet… saw them up while they've been paralyzed by your sister's poisonous lipstick. Pampadora leaned against the counter, pulling one of the bastard's beers out of the nearby mini-fridge, and she began to enjoy the drink as she scooted in the man's direction, commanding her brother to, "Saw, please… before the poison kills him."

And saw Jason did. He sawed and he sawed, sitting atop the man as if he were a lover. First the man's hands… then the man's head. Of course, by the time Jason had even started to saw into the first hand, the poison had already killed the bastard… but Jason did not know it, and Pampadora did not care to tell him. She was enjoying the show too much. She kept encouraging him to "hurt him some more, hurt him some more, he's not dead yet!" and finally agreed to congratulate Jason's first "murder" as soon as the head went rolling away, some half an hour later. The puddle of blood was like a mini-ocean, drenching Jason's knees and hands. Pampadora sat down on the floor with him, kicking off her heels and taking the saw from Jason. She began to cut him apart now, too, and she dedicated much, much longer time to the craft. His limbs fell away… and then pieces of the limbs fell away… It was beautiful for both of them. Jason loved his sister more than he had ever loved her before in that moment. She was more than a goddess. She was… there was no word. His hands shook excitedly as he stared at the blood staining his clothing and fingers.

When the man came to resemble a mass of bloody nothingness upon the floor, Pampadora dropped the saw and brought Jason close to her. She held him against her bosom, and cradled him in her arms, humming, once more, the tune of "Heartbreak Hotel" to her young worshiper. Jason Woodrue felt so safe and so secure in her hold… he had never loved her so much in his entire life…

And he felt that same love, in this beautiful moment, for Pamela Isley. He saw Pampadora in her, and relished her. The action, the meaning, the daringness… that cold look upon her face was the same expression that Pampadora had worn that way. His sister stood before him, for a moment, as the poisonous spray saturated his face and nostrils. He closed his eyes, breathing it in happily. How he had found Pampadora at last! How so indeed! She was standing before him, but her hair was crimson instead of gold. This was the only difference… but even that could be fixed, in time.

He stood there and relished Poison Ivy's toxic attempt… and relished her surprise when he did not die. Not that she wanted him to, of course. But she was crazy, and had not a rational mind when she had attacked. This was simple truth, and he acknowledged it fairly. Had it been anyone else… well, the poor bastard would have died horribly, wouldn't he?

But Jason Woodrue would not die today. Not when there was so much work to be done. He stepped forward, and embraced Pamela Isley passionately… as passionately as he had embraced Pampadora, as the sun had descended down upon Yale and Strom on that hot, summer day… and Pampadora had realized just how much Jason really did love her….

_This is the moment of forever_, he thought, then and even now.


	23. Chapter 23

"Death toll is estimated at seventeen," the Joker mumbled quietly to himself, his bright green eyes scanning the front page of the newspaper with twinkling delight… and then delight turned to annoyance. "Seventeen? Seventeen?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully, frowning. "I see… well, then, I'll need to have a chat with Miss An Ass." He tossed aside the paper angrily… and for good measure, shot the thug nearest him with his revolver, sending the goon spinning away from his chair and card game. The other clowns at the table with him jumped only for a moment… before one of them pulled the unfortunate bastard's chips and cash to his side, smirking. The Joker sighed sadly.

Harley, graciously bound to black negligee, saddled over to her pudding sadly and sat down upon his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and grinning widely at him. The Joker always needed a smile.

"Don't be sad, pudding…" she whispered to him. "Look at all the fun stuff we got!" She was, of course, referring to the large piles of toilet seats, LEGO buckets, chocolate pudding snack packs, Tasers, beach balls, radios, televisions, empty fish tanks and bags of cash that lay strewn about the floor of the clubhouse. Scores of the previous night, what with both the police and Nightbrain distracted by their big boogieman. The Joker had ordered a toy store to be robbed… it was the ultimate heist! He now had hundreds of little action figures and an entire train set to play with in his spare time, bigger and better with the Christmas season approaching. But still his heart felt…empty, and Harley's luscious bosom could not satisfy him right now.

Only seventeen people recorded dead. Not much of an impression left following the virus's test run. Why, only three years ago he had put a series of well-placed bombs beneath the Gotham Runners Field. _That_ had taken out more than five hundred people alone, body parts of football players and fans going sky high! Some of the pieces were still being found even to this day, scattered around the city… And yet this measly little "Leviathan" monster had taken out a grand total of… seventeen. Well _whoopee_, super mother of fucking A, that was just…wow…

He swore loudly, and pushed Harley to the floor, his expression sad. She went down with a _whoop_ and landed on her sweet little bottom… He had to shoot someone else. He considered Harley for a moment, but then decided against it, as he had so many, many times before… He liked her. Not that he was going to let anyone know that… not even himself… shush, now, hush, before you find out your dark secret…

"How goes the game, boys?" he asked in a bored voice, glancing at the poker tournament with narrowed eyes. The three surviving thugs gave him thumbs ups, offering him nods and replies of "Not bad, not bad…"Really?" he asked. "Is that so? Not bad at all… but I like bad. Don't you like bad, Harley?"

"Love it Mista J!" Quinn agreed, bobbing her head up and down quickly, her pigtails flapping this way and that.

"Me too…" He held up a little black remote, and pointed it at the table, pressing a little red button near the top. Immediately, the three goons at their poker table erupted. Literally. They were ripped apart as they exploded from within, body parts flying everywhere and blood splattering the room in a massive flood. The table was decimated, the cards, cash and chips obliterated. Harley shrieked loudly, cartwheeling away from the raining remains… but Joker just sat there, bored, sad, and thoughtful, as blood and guts rained down upon him in a glorious shower of demise. _What a day, _ he thought. He knew _what_ his problem was. He missed Batman. He missed his best friend.

When news had been reported that Batman had gone missing, Joker had, at first, felt gleeful. The Bat had decided to play a game with him. A glorious game of hide and seek. But after months and months, he had decided that the Bat was not, in fact, sneaking around. He really was gone… at least, that man, W, seemed to think so. He and Woodrue both. Stupid tree. Stupid sunglasses worshiping male stripper. What did they know? _He_ had known the Bat for a long time. The Bat _was_ his best friend, and it was the Joker's duty to know everything about him. So he _knew_ that Batman was still alive… but where? Where was he?

The last time he had seen the Batman had been during the assault on Ivy's lair. The Bat had finally remerged from hiding, snatching the poisonous plant vixen and ghosting her away to the ends of the earth… and he had not returned. Joker could remember their last conversation, at Arkham, just before the Bat had gone after Jason Woodrue's home in the northwest part of the country… Woodrue, it had seemed, had done something to Batman… until his sudden reappearance at Ivy's, which had seemingly shocked Woodrue. So Treebeard had failed to murder the rodent.

This was good news. It meant that the games were far from over, and maybe soon, Joker could see his friend again. He looked around at the neon-flashing clubhouse, with clowns, skulls and balloons painted all over the purple walls. He stared around at the hookahs and electric chairs, at the mini-trampolines and pogo-sticks… none of these comforts brought joy to him, because without Batman, they did not feel like rewards after a long day of mischief.

He stood up from his kingly throne chair (which was, in fact, an electric one) and went around to where Harley was trying to get blood and entrails out of her hair. He offered a hand, a smile on his face, and she squealed with delight, leaping into his arms… suddenly forgetting about the bodily mess that stained her. The Joker held her close, and giggled a little.

"My dear… I've decided something."

"What's that, puddin!?"

The Joker kissed her forehead. "We offered Woodrue a pass on his execution when he promised us a repay with these silly little viruses from the Blackwood woman… but, you see, I'm not _satisfied_ with the viruses, m'dear. They aren't much fun…" He put on a whimsical frown, and Harley mimicked him. He began to waltz about the room, swinging her to and fro, and she let out a wonderful little "_Wheeeeeeee_." "But… there's more. I don't like Blackwood, to be honest. She's rude and pompous and smells like friend fish…"

"Don't you mean _fried_ fish, pud-"

"DON'T CORRECT ME." Rage. Then, merriment again. "Anywho… she's a freak. I don't like freaks." He kicked aside a pile of intestines as he said it. "She's not go my interests at heart, and neither does Groot… I think it's time to renegotiate things with them both. And by renegotiate, I mean, _really_ make a difference…"

"How we gonna do it, sweetie?" Harley batted her eyelashes.

The Joker cackled now. "Dear little British fish and chips made a fatal miscalculation. Her driver, Manhattan…" He began to waltz again. "The man's quite persuasive when fed enough drink… or maybe it was those damnable interrogation drugs from Arkham… either way, do you know what he gave me?"

Harley wanted to know. So Joker told her. "He gave me her hotel room arrangements… and in turn, I placed a few _eyes_ in her bedroom…" And the Joker proceeded to tell her about the most amazing of circumstances. Ordering pizza… an adventure! Opening a bottle of wine… an epic! Turning on the television… honorable! And a fight with a certain little pussycat… Not so much exciting as ordering pizza, but passable. Harley was intrigued by the Joker's account. "Seems like Catwoman's been brought to the pound… but wouldn't you know? Her assistant is coming into Gotham City. Pretty little eggroll she was! Would it not be a shame if something were to… happen to little miss assistant, whose supposed antibodies are crucial to their work on the sexy vegetable…?"

"You mean _kidnap_?" Harley's eyes narrowed with delight. "Clownin around, maybe?"

"We'll see… we'll see… I have eyes on the airport. I have eyes on the boats. The cat, unfortunately, interrupted business… but I have something in my pocket to ensure that Miss Blackwood gives me a more suitable payment." He walked over towards a nearby dumpster, Harley still in his hold, cooing and looking excited about the Joker's daring plan. The Joker was giggling madly to himself. "The beastie is still alive, at least… running about, causing trouble."

And he was right. The great beast had survived Nightwing's attack upon its body, diving into the Gotham River and vanishing to who knew where… and apparently, it had left the boy in rough shape, according to eyewitness reports. Maybe Anassa did have something going on for her… she just needed some extra encouragement. Like, say, an abducted, blue-haired beauty and the source of a better tomorrow for one Lasetta Rilee…

"Are we going to go play today, pudding?" Harley sighed provocatively, scratching his chin in a suggestive manner. The Joker nodded.

"Of course, m'dear!" And he threw her into the dumpster, slamming the lid shut and locking it with a fine little metal chain indeed. He ignored her desperate pleas, positively tap-dancing away as he giggled uncontrollably, putting together a happy, hopping plot for murder, mischief, and some new shoes… it was definitely time to get new shoes…

Luna Tyke was special, as Anassa herself had acknowledged many times before. But she was special in subtle ways, and even Luna herself acknowledged that much. She stepped out onto the landing ramp at Moriarty Field, scanning the distant skyline of the metropolis known as Gotham City with deep interest, her lavender contacts spinning about in her eyes. Spinning, because they were cameras, and had a zooming capability at X5550- 5.6 Milliard Pixels. A gift from Anassa, and in Luna's color, too!

She did not disembark alone from the private jet. She walked hand in hand with a short man of twenty-four. He was a darkly skinned man in a black business suit, his flaming red hair illuminated in a phoenix-like fashion as the midday sun hit him. He shielded his face behind white mirrored sunshades, and carried a cane in hand. This cane, this suit, and these glasses all told the baggage handlers one thing: _This rich prick is going to get mugged the moment he reaches the first street. _But that was none of their concern.

Luna and this man said nothing to the handlers as they disembarked. Luna's assistant, O'Ryan, would handle things from here. It was Luna's job to head immediately for Anassa's new hotel arrangements: or, rather, the lab base at the old observatory, where she been moved to following the attack from the crazy… Catlady? Cat? Catwoman? Something like that… honestly she had already forgotten about the crazy woman in the cat suit. Things like that happened every day in Gotham, she had been told, and in her line of work, it seemed normal at best. After all, her work regularly involved abomination of their own sort. And she was ready should anyone rise to make a move on her or her lover… She was always prepared.

And so again, Luna Tyke was special. She did have the appropriate means to help Miss Anassa with her work on the Lasetta creature. It was, after all, one of the primary reasons that Anassa had given Luna such a high-ranking position at Windstar. Antibodies like Luna's were a one in seventeen million case, she had been informed… a reason that Anassa had worked so hard to track Luna down and hire her into the company. And that had been just fine with Luna. She was a genius, after all, and deserved an opportunity like this.

"Gotham stinking City," she remarked as she stepped through customs and allowed the scanners to read her body. She watched as the screen before illuminated her skeletal system… and the little life growing inside of her. She rubbed her belly fondly as she looked as the screen. A free ultrasound, a free chance to see the baby squirming about inside. It made her entry into one of America's most dangerous cities that much more tolerable. Little Celeste was seven months now… before too much longer, Luna would be a mother.

The status read **No Weapons Found**. She smiled. Silly boys. She would not carry weapons on her that could be detected so easily. She did, however, see a few security guards moving in with their magic wands… She stepped forward and allowed them to probe her. Again, she came up clean. _Hmm… security wasn't supposed to be this tight? Did Manhattan not make the bribe? _She had been assured that airport security would not bother her or Jeremy like this upon their arrival… something was wrong. And where _was_ Manhattan, anyway? She scanned the crowd of people bustling about, waving their signs around with names upon them… Manhattan was nowhere to be seen.

"Problem?" Jeremy Willows stepped forward now, twiddling his black cane in hand. He spoke with a heavy Ukraine accent, a memoir of his treasured homeland. Luna nodded.

"Manhattan's not here yet." She walked briskly across the shining linoleum, her black heels singing rhythmically a song of pure delight. People stared around at her as she passed. Long, beautiful blue hair and lips were not an unusual sight in Gotham City… but even for a pregnant woman at seven months, Luna knew that she had the kind of body that men desired. In all honesty, her dark purple bodycon was not helping matters. Jeremy glared around at those who stared, rapping his cane irritably against the floor.

"Get over it," she warned him in a direct, firm voice. Now was not the time for jealousy. "Let's find Manhattan." The cellphone practically teleported into her hand. Speed wad everything at Windstar. She connected to Manhattan at once, leaning against a nearby wall and tapping her foot impatiently…

"Hello?" Ah, finally. Manhattan sounded tired.

"Manhattan, where exactly are you?" she demanded, checking the time on the phone. She was informed that he would be there exactly when they had arrived. "We're standing in the middle of the terminal, and you're nowhere in sight."

"Oh, yes… please do forgive me, Miss Luna… I'm so, so sorry for not being there. Actually, I could not be there because I—" He paused. Luna frowned deeper. What was going on? Was he drunk or something? He came back on after a moment. "There's a car- there's a car—MISS LUNA, GET OUT OF THERE!" He was suddenly screaming, his voice frantic and shaky, and Luna jumped. "THEY'RE GOING TO KIDNAP YOU! DON'T TRUST ANYONE-" It was the last thing she heard before the line disconnected. She stood there, breathing hard, wild-eyed and fearful. What…the hell had that been about? She looked around at Jeremy, who was giving her a questioning look.

"Move, now!" She led him away from the wall, glancing at the entry doors in the distance. There were many limousines and other cars parked there, waiting for passengers. She did not know which one was supposed to be Manhattan's… but was Manhattan even…?

She pulled Jeremy into an alcove for one of the nearby bathrooms, and explained what had happened over the phone at once. Even though his mirrored shades hid his eyes, she could sense his anger and concern within them. He got this look, sometimes…

"We should call Miss Anassa directly," Jeremy insisted, pulling out his own phone. "Not with yours. Chances are, whoever has Manhattan will have used your phone call to jam signal. Let me try."

But she snatched the phone away from him and immediately punched in Anassa's number. "Stand watch!" she snapped, pointing at the terminal. People were giving them funny looks. They must look pretty suspicious, moving quickly and sneaking about in alcoves. Jeremy nodded, frustrated, and kept an eye out for anything and everything.

The phone rang and rang, and Luna swore loudly, demanding that her superior answer at once. It went straight to voicemail. "This is Blackwood. Leave it here and I'll consider your message with care." _Beep. _"Niz!" Luna swore out of frustration, kicking the wall hard. "Anassa, please pick up your phone. I'll be calling every two minutes until you do so. We're in danger at the airport. Manhattan's been taken by someone and whoever took him is after Jeremy and me. We are not sure which vehicles to trust. In the airport now. Please contact me."

She could say nothing more. A blast of gunfire interrupted her next thoughts. People screamed all over the terminal as machine gun fire rained into the building, shattering glass and wounding several people standing near the entry way. From their little alcove, they saw masked men running into the terminal… and by masks, she saw, they were clown-based. Happy, smiling, bouncy clown faces, colorful and whimsical.

"Joker!" she heard someone in the distance scream. "It's Joker!"

_Joker? _Now _that_ was a name that she knew well. Everyone in the world knew about the Joker… but was he not allied with Anassa? Maybe… maybe the Joker was here to pick her and Jeremy up. After all, it made sense. Maybe he had sent some of his goons to get her. She decided to go out and ask them. The Joker would not dare lay a finger on an ally… especially one under the service of someone as dangerous as Anassa Wesker…

Luna's arrogance did not bode well for her. The moment she stepped into view, three of the clowns accosted her, surrounding both her and Jeremy with their AK's aimed. Jeremy stepped in front of Luna, pointing his cane at one of them. The clowns began to laugh, giggling as they beheld the man who had brought a cane to a gunfight… that was, until the end of the cane exploded, and so did the nearest of the thugs. At least, his belly did. The clown went flying backwards, and that was when the other two clowns stopped laughing, startled by the sudden attack… Jeremy did not waste any time. He moved so quickly, first aiming his cane at the left clown's head. The head vanished into its bloody destruction. His friend went down just as fast.

"Well done?" Luna's voice shook as she asked her praise. After all… weren't these men on her side? Jeremy yanked her away and pulled her towards the front doors, leaving the wounded where they lay… other clowns had moved into the terminal, and they had not yet spotted Luna and Jeremy…

But what they found outside made Jeremy immediately regret his frantic escape. There were seven other clowns waiting for them near the limousines, all of them aiming automatics right at the two. Security guards lay dead all around the clowns, blown away so easily… Something was seriously wrong here. Luna, infuriated, stepped forward, her eyes wide and angry.

"Who put you up to this!?" she demanded. "Do you know who I am?"

"The eggroll!" one of the clowns near the back exclaimed. This one did a little merry dance forward, and whipped off his clown mask to reveal… a clown mask. But no… that wasn't a mask! That was his face! Snow white skin and grotesque, stretched out mouth, his lips ruby red, his hair the color of the grass around them… the Joker leered at Luna with an almost hungry glare. Luna's heart was racing hard. From behind them, the clowns who had charged into the airport were running back towards the doors, having spotted the two of them… They were trapped.

The Joker skipped merrily towards her, brandishing something in his hand that she saw was not an automatic, but instead grenade. He spun about in the air, landing before her with a grin.

"Welcome to Gotham City, fair maiden," he exclaimed, grabbing her by the chin with one of his gloved hands. Jeremy poked the end of the cane into the Joker's side.

"Release her!" he spat, his hands quivering with anger. Not fear. Anger. The Joker tilted his head to consider Jeremy.

"Now, now, son…" He tutted loudly. Guns were on Jeremy from either side. "She deserves better."

"Jeremy, come off of him." Luna's voice shook but she held her ground. She was not going to let this clown terrify her. Jeremy did not listen, however. He kept his cane securely on the clown. "Mr. Joker, I asked you if you know who I am."

"Of course, rice ball, of course," the clown said quietly, sniffing the air about her. She felt repulsed. "You're the little minx what with the special _antibodies_ of course."

Luna was happy. So then the Joker was really on their side, and he was just putting on a little show… that required dead guards? But Manhattan…

"Are you here to bring me to Anassa?" she demanded. In the distance, police sirens could be heard. The clowns around them were moving uneasily. "We received a call from her driver, a man named Manhattan. Have you heard from him?"

The Joker tutted again, looking sad. "Now, now… let's not talk about _boriinngg_ things. Let's talk about you, m'dear! You… and what you're worth to me?"

Luna's eyes narrowed. _What_?

He answered the question that her eyes asked. "Consider yourself my hostage," he hissed, giggling. "That is, until I get what I want!"

Her eyes widened. "Who do you think you are?" she demanded. Could she kill him, right here? She had a way of doing it… but could she move fast enough? "You're playing with serious fire, clown," she whispered, shaking her head in disgust. "I recommend you release me _now..._" She glanced around at Jeremy, who was still holding the Joker at his mercy… just as Joker held her at his. If either of them made a move, the other clowns would spray bullets. But something would be done soon. The police sirens were getting closer and the security guards inside of the airport would be moving in…

"What do you want from me!?"

The Joker sniffed loudly. "We'll see, in time, won't we?" And he reached down with his mouth, bit the pin out of the grenade, and suddenly tossed it a few feet behind Luna, laughing maniacally as he did. Jeremy panicked. The clowns panicked. Everyone scattered, Joker pulling Luna away at once. _Now, _Luna thought, _I have to do it now!_

She moved quickly, thrusting up an arm as he dragged her across the pavement, her fake, blue nails going for his neck. One scratch… one scratch and the nerve toxin would take effect. Anassa had warned her that in Gotham City, you needed to have a weapon on you at all times. This was one weapon that the guards at the airport would not be able to detect. But before she could get close to him, the explosion sent them both flying, the Joker hysterically laughing as fire burst forward and shrapnel flew in every direction…

From the greenhouse at the observatory, Anassa was teaching Lasetta how to dance like a "beautiful ballerina." Lasetta spun about, waving her arms to and fro as she tried to balance on one foot, a speaker nearby playing "Waltz of the Flowers," Tchaikovsky's river of dreams dancing about in her ears with such grace, such wonder… She still preferred to go about naked, even though Anassa had purchased for her the most beautiful green dress…

"This is so much fun!" Lasetta cried, giggling excitedly as she watched Anassa spin about through the air, so very, very high up… and in her excitement, vines crashed through the earth, twisting about Lasetta's limbs and allowing her flight across the garden. Anassa controlled her momentum carefully, feeling the slight sting as the spores threatened to come close. Lasetta still had not gotten the concept of "you must no approach me." But their merriment was bliss, her understand wondrous and free-spirited as she became the air, the music so delightful to every sense of the body. Flowers were exploding as she soared over like a bird, growing so beautifully large. Her mirth made them strong.

Oh how she had improved. Over the course of three weeks, Lasetta was already comprehending far more things than she ever had. Her treatments were improving. Every time she was wheeled away, down into the cold, cold surgery rooms, her body put up less resistance to the Aterium shots. Her brain was beginning to move faster and faster, allowing her to pick up on new sounds, words, and even basic mathematics. Not to mention art! Oh, how she loved art! Anassa had begun to teach her drawing, from the basics of shape to the complexities of shading… And Lasetta was learning quickly. Anassa theorized that, by the end of their second month together, the girl may very well have the mentality of a teenager…perhaps more. It was almost as if Lasetta's body yearned to grow now. For now, her mentality was reminiscent of a five to six year old. Possibly seven. Her speech patterns were clearer, more concise, even, but still comprehensive to her meanings.

And all the while, Anassa took extracts from her body, studying the plant matter that had recreated her, strengthening it different cellular enhancements until the extracts were impervious against the strongest of hazards, like fire and ice. She wondered if, in time, Lasetta would be ready to undergo full metamorphosis into a completely invulnerable being: the next stage of her own evolution, she hoped. Lasetta was the answer to so many things, and she believed that Progenitor, as powerful as it made her and Albert, was insignificant next to the amount of control, immunity and mental enhancements that Lasetta was endowed with. Woodrue's work had truly paid off, in the long run. He had been helped, of course, during the earliest stages of his research. That sister of his… and then Pamela Isley…

Anassa felt the time coming soon when Pamela Isley would have to be brought to the facility. She wanted to experiment on Isley, too. Isley's biology and Lasetta's were very, very similar, with differences in special places… and she felt that Isley could help contribute to perfecting Lasetta's body in the long run. After all, she was partly responsible for Lasetta's rebirth. Without her, Woodrue would never have gone as far as he had… at least not as quickly.

As Lasetta danced about, spinning through the air as her hero, Anassa, had, Anassa grinned. This was a wondrous moment indeed! If only she had brought her cell phone with her into the garden. But it was downstairs, in her bedroom… Anassa, of course, had no urgent reason to believe that the phone was pivotal in this moment.

_This day is a fine one indeed. _


	24. Chapter 24

"How?" she demanded, sliding to the floor, staring up at the man with shaking awe.

Jason Woodrue sighed. It was a sad sigh. "I've always been special," he muttered, "but it took a special woman to help me be that way. I told you… Pampadora taught me so much. She gave me so many gifts."

"That poison is beyond lethal!" Pamela screamed, throwing the spray bottle aside and wishing he had died… to save herself from the humiliation. At this point, she was still in her crazed mode, and was still forgetting what she felt for the man, and how important he was to her and the future. So it was that she began to feel glad that he had not died… even though she wished he had died… it was all so jumbled.

"Beyond lethal, and would kill the fittest man." His eyes twinkled at her. He sounded and looked pleased with her. "You're a fine craftswoman of weapons that will change the world… but turn those weapons against those who would die from them, Ivy."

"Please, tell me where she is…" Pamela begged, almost on the verge of tears. Woodrue decided to take pity upon her.

"As I told you, she's been moved to much safer, more sanitary quarters. And there she'll be cared for. She needs to be fixed, Ivy. If I am correct, you were trying to help her, were you not? Fix her? Help her to see your ways?" His lip curved. He did not even wait for an answer. "I've been there, done that. It's a dark road, Ivy dearest, and one that requires experience. You'll never help people see your way through torture and starvation."

"Never doubt the power," she whispered, clawing at the floor, "of the mind… or rather the lack of power."

Woodrue nodded. "Yes, I know. As I said, I've been there. Too many times before. And I tell you this: you must treat them like humans. Torture, pain, all of it is insignificant. Do so for your pleasure, but not for purpose. Not for a mission. A mission requires levelheadedness and compassion."

Pamela stared at him incredulously, and turned away quickly, fuming to herself. Only a small portion of her wanted to demand aloud the question of _What do you know?_, but the rational side of her, the scientist in her, said instead _He's correct. Faith in an early hypothesis destroys the purpose of hypothesis. Method is meant to be evolved, and if a liability, disposed of. _

"Compassion…"

"Like you have for your plants," he explained, gesturing around the room at her ivy, vines, flowers and fly-traps. "You care for them, you show them subtle love because of how tender they are. You work with them to ensure that their fragileness becomes non-existent. Thus, Ivy, you realize the truth: if you want to break Alissa Jagner… you must do so with subtlety, and refinement." He smiled now, very kindly. "Allow me to demonstrate." He offered her his hand. "I will take you to see her. I want you to see her, actually. Your friend is going through wonderful changes, Ivy… and I promise you that by the end of this day, she will have had her eyes opened. The world will be real and alive to her for the first time in the appropriate way."

"What's the appropriate way?" Pamela insisted, standing up quickly and sending little leaves scattering from her hair. She stepped forward to close the gap between them, and Woodrue did not hold her at bay. She would be under his influence as long as she was close… He brushed her hair with a gentle hand, giving her a sympathetic smile.

"Understanding. Gentleness." He picked a little green leaf from her crimson strands and held it before her carefully between two fingers. "Even the dead need comfort, Ivy," he said. He pressed the little leaf to his lips. "Even the meek are powerful when given the correct love. Look at this leaf, Pamela… broken away from its main body. Shambled… but not forgotten, and not any less loved. The things I could do… that you could do… that we _both_ could do to this little leaf…"

"What?" she whispered, eyes glistening with joyful tears. "What could we do?"

Woodrue gently placed the leaf upon her left breast, and admired it there for a small moment… "Can you imagine becoming a true Mother of Eden?"

The question seemed so simplistic, and yet so abyssal. It was deep, deep into the world of her logic and reasoning. What did he mean?

"I _am_," she answered desperately, pointing a shaking finger at the basement door. "I've… I've served her…"

"Yes, yes, you've been her bounty hunter. You've removed humans from the planet, in small doses, to prove your unwavering loyalty to the Earth, removing human problems one-after-another." He stroked her cheek. "But the human problem will not be solved through murder alone, Ivy. Murder can bring us to grand lengths, to amazing heights, but it is a slow process, and a lonely, unfulfilling one if you do not realize what else must be done."

"Like what?"

"Like _becoming more_," he stressed, and he fell to one knee, gazing up at her as if he meant to worship her. She felt her body quake, inside and out. His adoration, the _look_ he gave her… this was real. This was definite. "Like _truly_ ascending for the very first time in your life, Poison Ivy. _Becoming_ Poison Ivy in more than just name… becoming Nature itself."

Pamela nodded vigorously, hugging his head against her leg… wanting him again. "You truly understand me," she whispered, loving him. Truly loving him. "You truly understand me…"

"I understand you," Woodrue whispered, kissing her leg. "And I want to help you, Ivy… I want to _change_ you…"

Her heart leapt… and a cold, cold feeling overcome her as she heard his words. Change her?

"Change me…?" she voiced aloud. Woodrue nodded. His kiss moved lower… lower and far more personal than the mere leg. This gave her a much needed boost of energy, pacifying any doubts and replacing them with the blissful feeling of vulnerability: a seed to suggestion. Her heart arced backward, and she bit her lip… but his words still came true to her.

"Into trueness," he whispered. His hands convinced her body. She was on her back at once, spread across the floor of the room… and he stared down at her with an intense promise, secretly brewing such fine ideas within: ideas of Ascension and usage. But he did not make any more moves on her, not yet… His words were far more important than the intimate, sexual advances he could make, and she must hear them. Her mind was clouded by the natural pheromones he produced… but he must have her hear his words. He, fortunately, could control the very pheromones he created… He lowered the field of influence around her, listening carefully to her thumping, drumming heart… It was music inside, and he felt every vibration. He had her. "I will make you into something _new_, Ivy. I will make you into something that will change the world instantly."

"W-w-what!?" she insisted, dazed by the man… dizzy by the man…

He brushed her hair apart, gazing into her deep, green eyes. "I will make you into Mother Nature herself," he said. "I will make you into her very incarnation, Ivy. Give you control over the earth. Give you the mental and spiritual connections to manipulate the planet… to control the plants around you, and give you the means to create new life at the whisk of a finger!" His voice shook as he recounted his dream to her. The same dream that they had both shared for so long. New Eden… _Viridi Deus… one day, I will be able to call myself Viridi Deus… and Pamela… you will be my reason. _"I will make you a being capable of real power. I will help you shed away your humanity. You have no need for it. Humanity is a blemish upon an otherwise perfect body. And you must be the perfect being."

She collapsed into some odd, spiritual realm of bliss and dreamliness. His words _were_ reason. His words _were_ logic. They were destiny. Not fate. _Destiny! _

"How?" she whispered, pulling him in now. She wanted to kiss the man… she wanted to kiss the man and never stop kissing him. She wanted her lips to be her purpose. She wanted her affection to be her drive. And he allowed it. It was easier that way.

"Simple," he breathed. "So, so simple… There is work to do... but the rewards are eternal."

Pamela remembered her days spent with Jason Woodrue as she looked upon the table before her. Various potted plants of the Prometheus strain lay before her, each one labelled at a different cycle of life. It seemed the more it aged, the smaller it became. This anomaly was incredible. It was living, and it was as if one of her own kind. On the other side of the table, Albert Wesker was injecting via syringe a pale blue formula into the oldest plant, a withering, light yellow herb. She was reminded of potted Basil as she examined each. She began to work.

Her work was existence. It was life now. When Albert had returned from his absence, he had immediately set her to work in the botanical labs of the facility (of which Pamela was yet to discover the location of). He provided her with stores of chemicals and plant extracts, requesting her assistance in finding a suitable application that would keep the Prometheus strain from degrading too quickly in the human body. Adaption, he told her, was everything, and the goal was to combat the human suppressants. This, naturally, went against everything she believed in: her goal, after all, was to remove humans, not aid them with miracle recoveries… and yet if she did not comply, Wesker had already made it clear, upon his return, that there were other uses in which Pamela could be put… and none of these would involve her being conscious. She knew how dangerous the man was, and dared not defy him so easily. She would have to aid him in perfecting the Prometheus strain… but the ultimate reward of being able to kill Jason Woodrue would make it all worth the while. Wesker had promised her that the man's research would go to her, and that she would be allowed to continue and perfect Woodrue's work, preparing her great attack on the human population…

And, naturally, he told her about… _her. _And being told about _her_ had been everything that was needed to encourage Pamela's unwavering cooperation. As she worked diligently, combining different extracts and combinations of mutagens and plant cells, splashing about the chemicals and working endlessly to combat the degrading effects of Prometheus, her mind stayed glued to the thought of the goddess…

The goddess, in truth. A _true _incarnation of Mother Earth, or so Wesker claimed. Her name: Lasetta Rilee. And this Lasetta was a living incubator of Eden, distributing spores and growing new life continuously… it was everything that Woodrue had promised _her,_ Ivy… he had promised her that this was to be her mantle, her power.

He had lied, naturally. He had left to her die… he had betrayed her and tried to kill her… and then he had gone off and taken another woman, had given that woman the gift that should have been given to _her_…

And so she worked. And worked. And worked. And worked. She never stopped working, and stuck to Wesker endlessly. She demanded answers from him, wishing to know more about Lasetta and the woman's amazing power. So Wesker told her many things. No man or woman could approach the goddess and live… the air around her was very, very poisonous… A touch, a footstep and flowers and other forms of vegetation would spring to life, amplified by her emotional state… And her mind was rapidly growing from a child-like entity to a comprehensible girl of understanding. All of these things Wesker told her, insisting that in time, Pamela Isley would be required to meet with this living goddess. Lasetta, he told her, was in need of someone like her. One of her own kind. For that was indeed the case. She, Pamela Isley, and this Lasetta Rilee, they were both their own kind of person. Floric Children, Wesker called them both. And apparently, Jason Woodrue was among their ranks too…

So it was that as Pamela worked on the Prometheus, she kept these things in mind. Mother Earth's victory was becoming clearer and clearer each day. Her kind, the Florics, were growing in number, and Lasetta Rilee… she was the ultimate one. The true leader, the true queen… Pamela registered this. Had to. Lasetta was the answer, was Woodrue's victory. What she, Pamela, would have become was now in the hands of another. Pamela resigned herself to fate…to destiny: Lasetta Rilee would be the birth of New Eden, and Pamela would do everything in her power to help Lasetta grow and carry out the great task that had been appointed to her. And Woodrue… well, he had no future at all. He would die. Simply.

How she craved to meet Lasetta. How she yearned to understand and know the goddess better. In these times, Pamela was growing up, too, from her own child-like state. She was coming to terms with the reality that had been set forth: she was no longer to be _the_ goddess of New Eden. Simply _a_ goddess. A demigoddess. Someone to serve Lasetta and help her become Queen…

_And if that is the desire of Mother Earth, then so be it. _

Wesker promised Pamela that this meeting would come soon. Very soon. Within a matter of days, which excelled her heart. She longed to at last escape this place. She had been given no record of time, no account of the passage of events. She knew not how long she had been in this facility. Had it been weeks? Months? It felt like either and everything, to something and nothing, a combination of displacement. However long she had been prisoner here, it was time to get fresh air. She needed the sunlight. She had been weakened of late without it. Without the light, she felt she would die. Wesker had set things up to where she had artificial UV in her quarters, but true sunlight was a necessity. At last, she would be free.

And Bruce? Why, he had simply vanished. Ever since the confrontation at the Neptune tank, Wayne had simply disappeared. She wondered just what Wesker had in mind with the Batman… and what the P30 injections meant for the vigilante. Batman would be a formidable foe against anyone in a drugged, controlled state: more so than ever before, his aggression beautifully amplified by mind-altering chemicals. She had to admit, though, it hurt her. She resented Bruce Wayne with a passion. He was murderer and a tool for the public to cascade mutated proposals upon a helpless world… but Batman…

She loved Batman. Truly loved him, as she had loved Woodrue… as she had loved Archibald Helan on the day of his murder… as she had loved Otto Rock on the day of his… and Kevin… and Officer Patterson… Love was an action. Love was a drive. And for her, Batman was to be loved. It was a rule. He was an example of everything she believed in: action and results. As Batman, not Bruce Wayne, she loved him because he did not just hold onto his ideals: he acted upon them. He did things with them. He was not like the empty environmentalists who waved their signs about and did nothing more than shout. He took the initiative and became his own solution, and what a solution it was. In that way, she supposed, she also loved Bruce Wayne… but only if he could forever hide behind the face of the man of action.

Any man who was willing to carry out action instead of word could win her affection. And thus they earned their ultimate reward: a sacred kiss of her sacred lips. She had learned to love her lips ever since Woodrue had failed to destroy her… ever since her rebirth. It was not killing that drove her, but rather action of her own. People died because of her love, because of her infatuation with bringing about solution and order to a planet under peril. And one day, these precious, poisonous lips of hers would cross Bruce Wayne's… would cross Batman… and her love would steal away his life, reminding him of why she had loved him: because of action. Because of willingness.

Naturally he _had_ to die. As would Albert Wesker. Oh yes…

The man was annoying. Although he himself went about with his own action, he looked at her as an experiment, not a being in any magnitude. Those fierce red eyes of him saw her as an inferior, as a creature of temporary means. With Lasetta Rilee, she was second best… and second bests did not hold forever purposes.

He strode about, Wesker, with confidence in his stride. Pamela knew the signs of connection. He was with someone, she knew, and this someone made changes in his life that he both needed and craved. She wondered if someday she would meet whoever it was that was so special to her. With her enhanced senses, she had, on the first day of his return, caught the scent of someone not him. Someone who had left their own chemical trace. It had saturated his skin and had left impressions. Her senses were only just so, of course. She could only barely pick up on the subtle signals. She was more receptive to plant signals, truly, and perhaps, more than anything, this is what had given her an advantage: the detection of chlorophyll. Whoever Wesker was attached to, the person had traces of chlorophyll and had left their mark. A botanist, perhaps? Someone who spent long hours in a garden…?

_Not Lasetta, naturally. He has already told me of how dangerous _that_ would be. No… this is something else… something far, far else… _

Why did it make her so angry? She felt bitterness when she acknowledged it. Was it because he had kidnapped _her_, and was allowed to go about his own life, with his own loves, whereas she had to remain in the dark of this metal world…?

Sometimes she had come very, very close to seizing one of the researchers around the facility. She wanted to know if she could still entice them, still bring them to their knees. After all, the need for artificial pheromone doses had long since passed. Her body now produced them naturally, another effect of Woodrue's failed murder attempt… but she was afraid of what Wesker would do to her if she tried it. She wanted control, damn it! She wanted control in this fucking mausoleum! She needed it, required it…

_Damn him! Damn you Wesker! I'll seize my moment… just you wait… _

But it could not be too soon, she knew. When Wesker took her to meet this Lasetta Rilee, she must behave. She needed Wesker's resources and access to the incarnation. Furthermore, she needed access to Woodrue.

And this was another thing that had been bothering her. Woodrue…

When Wesker brought her to where Lasetta was being held, he had assured her that Woodrue would be in the dark. Woodrue desired Pamela for his research, among other things… and Wesker could not allow her to fall into the madman's hands. Wesker had said that he would set things up to where Woodrue was absent during the time of her visit. He would draw Woodrue away, somehow… and that she must trust him when the time came. So she would. So she must. For Eden's sake… and for the sake of the goddess Lasetta.

By the end of another week, Pamela had successfully bonded an agent of Kallosian sardioc, a remedial flower from northern Egypt, to the younger variations of Prometheus. She had suggested acquiring the flower because of its history in medicinal cases of bacterial infection during the old wars… and naturally, her hybridization had been the key to something greater. Their first test subject using the application demonstrated as such.

A man of forty-three, his body was plagued with disease, a flesh-eating bacteria that was slowly stripping away the man's life in painful, foul smelling periods of time… Wesker's staff had wheeled the man, strapped tightly to a gurney, into the testing lab, and Pamela had administered the shot. Within a matter of minutes, Prometheus had taken effect, and the man's body began to repair itself, the dead, rotting flesh stripped away as new tissue grew before their very eyes. The Prometheus had been a success.

The data recorded, the man properly disposed of with a gunshot to the temple, Wesker had at last given her the praise she deserved, shaking her hand firmly.

"You do have a future, don't you?" he had said. _He_ had said _that_ to _her_. Naturally, she had agreed, with a curt nod, a small smirk, and a departure without another word. Pamela was slowly and surely leaving her mark on Albert Wesker. Fixing the Prometheus strain had been simple. Fixing the problem with how Wesker perceived her… the solutions would intertwine, like vines, but only time could truly hold bearing. But Wesker was not fully satisfied with the aging crone. More bodies were needed. More test subjects.

"Bring them all," she had suggested heartily, dancing about the lab in a slow and steady way, relishing her self-made glory. "There are billions of them out there, just waiting to be snatched. Been creative and show some variety."

And so he had. Test subject after test subject was wheeled into the lab, several by the day, men, women and children of all ages, sizes and medical issues. Each one found relief in Pamela's perfected Prometheus… and each one was disposed of accordingly. Test subjects were only good for recording data. They needn't return to the outside world and speak to the public of the places they had been taken to… of the men and women who had abducted them…

It certainly did bring Pamela back… back to those wonderful times…

It had been wonderful times. First, Alissa… and then the real work.

Woodrue uncovered Pamela's eyes. He had been shielding them with his hands, and now she saw the adorable little place in which he had blindly steered her. The room was an elegant lab of its own right, metallic walls and floor shining with polished brilliance. All over were holes, emitting a fine smelling sterilization gas. Tables were set up with glorious arrays of chemicals and beakers alight with merry, bubbling dance. Charts displaying the growth rates of plants given special chemicals dotted the walls. Television monitors showed lab results from recent studies… and there…

There she was…

Pamela had a word for it: _beautiful_. Well, what other word could there be. Alissa saw strapped to a long, metal gurney, which by default looked very cold against her bare skin… and yet she did not seem to mind. She did not seem to feel. She did not seem to _be_. Strapped down with thick black bindings, Pamela studied closely the tubes connected from the large pumping machine to her head, studied the pale blue liquid within the tubes and heard the bubbling mirth of the stuff… She was blindfolded by some kind of metal covering over her eyes, and Pamela saw more, tinier tubes pumping some other kind of tannish substance into her stomach. It was the device of a madman…

"Do tell," she asked quietly. She was looking at a series of monitors to the side that seemed to be accounting for the woman's heart rate and other vital recordings. Woodrue smiled, stepping forward and pointing at the reader machine.

"Notice the pumping status there. **Ravin strain**. Ravin strain, an artificial supplement of my own making. To date, there have been three human test subjects, before Alissa: each one displayed the proper signs after the initial injections."

"Proper signs?" Pamela scanned Alissa's body. She saw nothing.

"Loyalty, Ivy."

She turned to him, blinking. "Loyalty?"

Woodrue nodded. "I told you… the process of resetting one's mind needs tender care and a compassionate edge. Subtlety, Ivy. Your methods of isolation and starvation, the mental abuse you put her through… and physical… It was the wrong way. This, before you, is the only true way to guarantee one's forced respect."

"But what are the guarantees?" Pamela persisted. "What are you looking for?"

"Submission, of course. You'll see for yourself, soon enough. This process, this Ravin strain, it's been crucial in my research. I want to show you my research and demonstrate to you what it is capable of, Ivy."

_Oh? Does he now? _She smiled. Woodrue's secrets. His beautiful secrets. He led her to another part of the room. There were strange machines lined along the wall. Capsules, really, cylindrical and glassy. Inside three of these things were the strangest of sights, and as she stood before them, beholding their forms and their color, she felt an odd sense of physical escape. She was fleeing, far, far away, gazing into…evolution? Horror? The justification for such things was entirely vague… and yet here they were, and they were beautiful. Beautiful and terrifying.

Humanoids… but that was not flesh covering their bodies. It was moss. It was organic and green, definitely moss-like and… familiar. Faces? Vaguely. Narrow slits where eyes should have been, and wide, gaping mouths that stretched far, far down… Webbed hands and bent knees, these creatures rubbed their ghastly green palms against the glass. From them came ominous moaning sounds. Desperate moaning sounds.

But when Woodrue approached these creatures, they stopped their moaning at once. He placed his hand against the glass of one of their capsules… and they matched his touch equally. He gazed lovingly at them… and the sound that emitted from them now was… longing and passionate! Pamela's knees were quaking. Her heart was racing.

"Children," he told her as explanation, without looking at her, without taking his gaze off of his creation. He knew her question before she said it. "All children, so small and so meek. They need nourishment… and in time they will thrive. Once human… now Ascended." He smiled around at her now, beaming with wet eyes. "Living plant matter given new meaning. Bound to me, by a hive mind… a beautiful, beautiful hive mind."

H-hive mind?" Pamela gasped, her voice quaking audibly. She pointed a shaking hand at the creatures… and finally collapsed onto her knees. "That's a… that's a…" She could not say what it was… but her soul knew it. It was the answer. What she saw before her was the answer. Living, breathing, trueness… True examples of Eden's children!

"They were perfected," he whispered back to her, nodding fiercely. "As she will." He pointed at Alissa. "But we need something to further our work, Ivy. I need your help. Your mind… and your body."

"I'll do anything," she gasped, clutching at her beating heart, "if you'll make me into one…"

"Oh, I intend to," he said softly. "But you have to be greater than them. These creatures don't have their minds. You're superior to them, Ivy. You're meant to be their Queen."

"Yes!" Pamela hissed, crawling forward and staring at the creatures with worshipable reverence. She was going to worship them. Right here, right now… These creatures were the Ascension! They were the solution, the answer, the end result! Her dream made reality… by this wondrous, wondrous man… "What do you need, Jason?" she whispered, touching the glass… and the creature swiped violently back at her. Not that she cared. She was so much lesser than it. So much lesser. Trapped in her human body, she knew of her inferiority, and demanded its ill contempt for her while trapped in the mammalian rags she called flesh!

"I need," Jason whispered back, "_test subjects!" _

And Pamela smiled. _Test subjects? Is that all, Jason? _


	25. Chapter 25

It happened at midnight. Precisely, 12:03, but midnight enough in any such case of horror such as what occurred down there in the greenhouse of the old observatory. The first person to hear the screaming was one Dr. Merrian Beck, who foolishly decided to tempt fate and entered the greenhouse alone. This was against every protocol that Dr. Woodrue and Dr. W had established… and she almost immediately paid for it with her life, as the vines snatched her into the darkness to devour her the moment the elevator doors opened. They did not even have to wait for the doctor to go through the sterilization chamber: they broke right through it and defied its strong, defensible wall, snatching the idiot researcher to her death… Even now, as Lasetta Rilee bawled in the middle of the greenhouse, her plants wildly thrashing about and hissing, she held the dead, heavily poisoned doctor in her arms, crying and wishing the woman would wake up…

It took Woodrue ages to calm the crying woman, sitting down upon the dirt with her and rocking her about in his arms, singing some kind of soft tune that sounded to Anassa Wesker like the Elvis classic, "Heartbreak Hotel." As he did this, the vines about him thrashed not at him, but rather seemed to pull away from him, dragging themselves through the very dirt. They dared not touch him. When at last Lasetta's cries had come to a halt, Anassa began her journey down to the greenhouse, pushing researchers and guards aside who tried to stand in her way. Woodrue had given strict orders that no one enter the greenhouse… but Anassa was not one for listening.

"Silence," she commanded the nobody guard who held his automatic before her, shaking as he gritted his teeth and have a pleading look.

"Miss Anassa, please-"

_SMACK! _An uppercut slap and the guard went flying into the wall behind him, hitting it hard and slumping into unconsciousness.

Anassa was in no mood to play around. She had been up all night. First, after having not heard from her assistant Luna following the landing of the private jet at the airport, she had discovered that the airport had been attacked by the Joker… and Luna had seemingly vanished into thin air. The Joker himself was not responding to any contact from the Woodrue or Anassa, and neither of them knew the location of the clown's headquarters… but it did not take a mentally impaired person to estimate the truth of the matter: the Joker had come calling… and Anassa knew why. The great beast, the Leviathan child, it had finally been brought down, driven from the river by the U.S. military and taken out by a barrage of concentrated fire. The damage and death toll had been dismal. Not much of a demonstration.

Anassa had spent hours and hours poring over a map of Gotham City and past records of the Joker's antics, trying to deduce the location of his hideout. The coffee was just not helping her nerves, and now Lasetta had thrown some kind of tantrum, and had killed a researcher… She wanted answers from something, damn it!

No one else tried to stop her from entering the elevator: they all backed away in fear. _Good, you bastards. _Woodrue, however, was waiting at the bottom for her, standing in the middle of the ruined sterilization chamber.

"_SHE'S CALM, NOW," _he told her, shaking his mossy head. _"YOU'D BEST BE HEADING BACK UP, MISS BLACKWOOD." _

"In time, Dr. Woodrue," she replied curtly, stepping around him. She was still in her nightgown and her hair was a terrible mess… This was _just not_ the night for any of this. "But I have to see to my charge."

"_SHE WILL SPEAK WHEN SHE IS READY TO SPEAK!" _Woodrue hissed, stretching out his arm for Anassa… Anassa's instincts activated at once, and she spun around in a blur, catching the extending branch in hand. Her eyes narrowed.

"Plants hate fire," she warned him quietly. "I'd hate to burn you."

Woodrue's glowing eyes widened, and he pulled the arm back at once, staring incredulously at her. Anassa nodded, satisfied with putting the man… no, the _creature_, in his place, and turned away from him, her goal Lasetta Rilee. Woodrue followed her, however, keeping his distance…observing…

When Lasetta saw Anassa, she immediately leapt up and ran for her. Anassa, not expecting this, jumped into the air, high, high above their heads, her heart racing. She landed upon the branch of a tall oak, and stared down at the desperate Lasetta.

"Lasetta, dear, what's happened!?" she called down. Lasetta's arms hung limply at her side, and the young woman stared up at Lasetta with wide, tearful eyes. Woodrue came to stand beside her… perhaps Anassa could get her to talk…

"Ansa… Ansa, I had a bad dream!" she called up to Anassa, her lips quivering as tears fell down her face. She sniffled loudly and rubbed her swelling eyes. As she did, flowers sprung to life from her very cheeks, activated from the contact of the tears… but Lasetta did not seem to notice them, and they fell from her body quickly enough. Anassa frowned.

"A bad dream," Anassa called back down, frowning deeper. Woodrue stood with crossed arms, still observing quietly… "What kind of a bad dream?

Lasetta hung her head. She was shaking really badly. Something about this bad dream had very much startled her… Anassa sighed. She would have to do it. Lasetta needed it. She went flying down quickly, landing before Anassa some feet away. The haziness around the woman was frightening. It could expand at any moment…

"Lasetta," Anassa said quietly. "Lasetta, staying right where you are… and staying calm, tell me and Daddy about what you saw."

Lasetta fell onto her bottom, holding her legs closely and staring with tears at the ground. "There were lots of people around me. They were happy. Happy people. Smiling people."

"Yes, love."

"They were happy to see me. They said my name, and smiled big. They went to hug me."

"Go on." Anassa was calming her heart rate. Lasetta was fine. She was going to be fine. Woodrue, still, looked empty in his intense observation.

"They came to hug me. A boy. Two grownups. The boy ran at me. Wanted to hug me. He was smiling big… and when he hugged me, he fell down. He was got sick. He got still…" She wiped her green tears away. "The grownups fell down too. They got sick too…"

Woodrue shifted uncomfortably… and Anassa noticed. Frowning, she said softly, "I'm sorry to hear that, dear."

"They wouldn't wake up," Lasetta whispered. "They stayed down… they died. I know they died… The boy first, then the grownups… The boy was big. Oliverado…" The last thing she said came out in a sudden burst of… was it realization? "Oliverado. 'Oliverado, Jaquez… it's her!' The grownup lady knew who I was…"

Woodrue not only fidgeted uncomfortably this time. He swayed on the spot. Ivy and thorns became disturbed all over his body. He took steps back, away from Lasetta. Anassa was curious as to the reason for the man's sudden discomfort. Lasetta was still shaking… but still calm, as Anassa had instructed.

"She… she said my name. Lasetta… She knew my name. And then all sorts of people were falling sick, falling down… People in pretty dresses and suits… The grownups and… and the boy, Oliverado… they held each other… and died!" Lasetta grabbed her head. "I was so scared. But the boy and me were friends. I had another dream. Me and the boy were playing in the grass, wrestling with each other... we weren't wearing cloths… I don't know why we were wrestling without any clothes…"

Now something was beyond doubt wrong with Woodrue. He was shaking. He was looking at Lasetta with a new look, one that Anassa had never seen him give her: it was _fear_. Above, the researchers listening in on the bugs were whispering to each other… frantically. Anassa seemed to be the only one in the dark. She did not like that. She _hated_ being in the dark.

"It was just a bad dream," she told Lasetta, stepping away. "Lasetta, I want you in bed _now_. Go to sleep and I want to see you in the morning, alright dear-"

"_NO!" _Woodrue had found his voice at last. Anassa jumped as the suddenness of it. _"WE DO NOT HAVE ANY TIME. I WANT HER TAKEN TO THE TESTING LAB NOW."_

"What exactly would that accomplish, might I ask?" Anassa demanded, tugging on the man's arm. It was a mistake. Poisonous tendrils and thorns snaked about and darted at her arm. She barely pulled away in time. Woodrue, however, felt the need to comply, and drug her to the side, Lasetta watching in earnest… but Woodrue pulled her far, far away from the young woman, barking a simple order at her not to follow. Woodrue did not stop until he reached the ruins of the sterilization chamber, and then he turned to face Anassa.

_ "DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME! THIS IS SERIOUS, MISS BLACKWOOD."_

"If it's serious, it's my job to appropriately respond," Anassa fumed. "So inform me. Educate me."

_ 'LISTEN TO ME… THAT WAS NO DREAM SHE HAD."_ He shook with fear. He shook with anxiety, and watched Lasetta in the distance, who was tracing doodles into the dirt, just as Anassa had instructed her to do during times of stress. It pacified the girl and kept her head clear… and the spores and deadly plants away._ "NO. THIS WAS SOMETHING FAR WORSE. FAR, FAR WORSE… THESE… THESE ARE _MEMORIES_, MISS BLACKWOOD. MEMORIES… OF THE DAY I HAD HER KILL HER FAMILY… HER FIANCE, OLIVERADO… HER SERVANTS AT RILEE MANOR… SHE'S HAVING MEMORIES OF TIME SPENT WITH OLIVERADO. SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY THE MAN. THIS IS A SERIOUS PROBLEM." _

Anassa listened but painfully did she truly hear the words. She thought that Woodrue had just said that Lasetta was being revisited by old memories… memories of murdering her family, her servants… her lover… She went pale, inside and out, a hard lump in her throat. Suddenly, she was very much aware of how _not _beautiful this tree man really was… But she nodded curtly, waiting for him to continue.

_ "LSITEN TO ME! IF LASETTA IS REMEMBERING THINGS, THEN WE ARE IN SERIOUS DANGER. HER EXTENSIVE TRANSFORMATION, THE PROCESSES… THEY WIPED HER CLEAN. THEY… THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO WIPE HER CLEAN! BUT THEY DID NOT. THEY FAILED! SHE IS REMEMBERING THINGS SHE SHOULD HAVE LOST FOREVER! AND WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF THESE THINGS COME BACK TO HER, FULLY?"_

Anassa knew. She knew exactly what would happen.

_ "NOTHING… NOTHING WILL BE ABLE TO CONTAIN HER! MISS BLACKWOOD… SHE'LL REMEMBER WHAT WAS DONE TO HER. SHE'LL REMEMBER BEING TAKEN AWAY… SHE'LL REMEMBER BEING KILLED, AND REVIVED IN TRANSFORMATION… SHE'LL REMEMBER EVERYTHING THAT WAS DONE TO HER! AND WITH HER POWER… THERE WILL BE RETRIBUTION OF AN APOCALYPTIC SCALE! SHE IS NOT READY YET! SHE CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO REMEMBER!_

"I understand." Was that her voice, this strange, croaky sound that emitted from her body? Was she that overwhelmed by all of the information she was suddenly receiving?

_ "WE MUST STOP HER, NOW, BEFORE SHE PROGRESSES ANY FURTHER. IF HER MEMORIES ARE STILL STORED INSIDE… WE HAVE TO REMOVE THEM. WE HAVE TO BLOCK THEM. I EXPECT YOU TO DO JUST THAT."_

"Sir!" One of the doctors above, on the walkway, was calling down to Woodrue anxiously. "Sir, we can initiate Protocol Black on the subject!"

"_NO!"_ Woodrue roared._ "WE CANNOT AFFORD TO TERMINATE LASETTA AT THIS POINT, DOCTOR BRANSOM! SHE'S TOO POWERFUL, TOO PREPARED! IT WOULD BE THROWING AWAY OUR TRIUMPHANT CARD! NO… NO… MISS BLACKWOOD, WE MUST REMOVE HER MEMORIES NOW!" _

It was…just too much.

Within the next hour, Woodrue had brought Lasetta into that terrible place, that testing lab… and more and more Anassa's heart yearned to carry out the plan that she and Albert had agreed upon. But she was still not ready to get near enough to Lasetta to steal her away… especially when she considered that she would have to face Woodrue and her small army. They she could take, if not burdened by a girl that she could never touch… _Damn this all… _

Lasetta was fastened to her usual table, looking scared beneath the powerful glass dome that contained her and her deadly cloud. This time she would not be receiving the Aterium treatments, and she seemed to know. She fingered the glass, silently begging Anassa to get her out with that look of hers… and Anassa touched the glass back, if only to give the girl some illusion of comfort. Then the anesthetic was applied… and her body rejected it. Woodrue's doctors were murmuring to themselves. That… had never happened before. Woodrue worked the controls at the terminal, typing in a series of commands, mixing the right chemicals and strengthening the dosages… He applied the anesthetic again.

She continued to finger at the glass, unaffected by the anesthetic.

"What is this?" the man named Doctor Bransom asked Woodrue in a panicked voice. "What are we seeing here!?"

Woodrue pushed the man away hard, typing a long series of commands, his arms moving lightning quick and frantically of their own regard… and still, for the third time, Lasetta showed no indication that she would go to sleep. Woodrue was shaking at this point.

"_I'M GOING TO HAVE TO DO THIS WITHOUT THE DAMN STUFF." _

"No!" Anassa cried, marching towards him. "The pain will be too much for her to bear! What do you think will happen then!?"

"_I HAVE TO DO THIS!" _Woodrue screamed. _"OR WE WILL PERISH, BLACKWOOD! I WILL NOT LOSE LASETTA AS MY WEAPON! I WILL NOT LOSE HER, DO YOU HEAR ME!?"_

"She's too dangerous!" Bransom exclaimed, steadying himself. "You have to exterminate her now-" These were the man's last words. Tired of the man's insistence, Woodrue reached out with his long, elastic branch of an arm, and suddenly the woody tendrils were wrapped around the man's head. Compression was the act. His muffled screams were drowned out at once. From the back of the man's head there exploded a single black, thick thorn, almost like a small spear… and when Woodrue released him, the corpse that fell back had a great hole where the face had been. Anassa paled even deeper. What had that been about?

But she could not concern herself with that. The drill!

"Woodrue!" Anassa cried, her mind desperately pounding at the question of whether or not she could do something. This, after all, was not her operation. She was a mercenary researcher, as low and meaningless as Doctor Bransom had been.

The needles struck. Lasetta screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed

And screamed.

_God, that scream…_

But the screaming soon became drowned out by something far worse. Back in the grand chamber, something was happening. Something loud, and explosive. Before any of them could run to check, guards and researchers were running into the room.

"Containment breach!" one of the women in security armor shouted, her automatic shaking in her hands. "The plants in the greenhouse containment are going crazy!"

"What's bloody happened!?" Anassa screamed over the raging noise of the distant booms and Lasetta's screaming. But the noise was just too much. The guard was drowned out at once.

Lasetta had been bound by the metallic binding cuffs within. The needles were positioned accordingly and were pumping Anassa's chemicals into Lasetta's brain. These chemicals had been slightly altered from the pacification suppressers Anassa used during Aterium sessions. Lasetta's temporal lobes would be saturated and the process would-

**REJECTION. **

It was funny how a simple word in bright red lettering on a computer screen could make everyone in the room freeze. Rejection… her body had rejected the suppressers. _God, she rejected it! _Woodrue had become statue still. Anassa swore loudly and decided to move, pushing Woodrue's archivists aside as she reached the terminal beside Woodrue and punched the Abort switch on the machine. The needles retracted at once from Lasetta, who continued to sob hysterically inside of her capsule, banging her fists against the glass as the bindings that restrained her fell loose… and the booming sounds from the main chamber intensified at this.

Still, Woodrue stood silent and still. Anassa could not make out the man's face… but she could feel the chill in the air.

Suddenly it was looking like a good time to contact Albert and get the hell out of this place.


	26. Chapter 26

"Go ahead, baby," Pamela Isley whispered to the man who lay bound to the metal table before her, strapped down tight and finely as she waved the syringe before his face, grinning. "Scream for mommy…" The needle went in the neck. The scream came out of the mouth, understandably. A mixture of diluted toxins and enhanced stimulants entered the man's bloodstream, fogging his eyes over and paling his skin. His scream turned to guttural plea, a terrible sound of agony. She emptied the syringe and tossed it into a nearby trash bin, leaving the man to die his slow and painful death. Woodrue had examined the boy's physical: he had been given a nice, red **REJECTION** on his file… and so Pamela's job was to kill him. The man was their fifth rejection for that morning alone.

As she walked away from him, listening to his screams as the poison slowly killed him, she tried hard to block him out. It had been some trick learning to put all things out of mind and transcend into her personal world when she took a human. Otherwise, the _fear_ and the _discomfort_ would return, and remind her that she was still shackled in her human form. His screaming was so terrible. Often, when she had murdered, they never screamed like that…. No, they _never_ screamed like that. Her methods were always silent and swift. If she used toxins, they would remove vocal abilities so easily… always they died under the influence of her pheromones, which nullified them considerably in various ways… Hearing the man scream like that made her feel cold. Very, very cold.

But the man was only doing what she had told him to do. She had told him to scream… and scream he did. Now that she heard it, she found that she did not like it very much. Not at all. She wanted him to stop. Perhaps she should go back and slit his throat…

Woodrue glanced up from the table he was working at, a scalpel in one hand, a woman beneath that hand, half-way dissected. "Scream for mommy?" he repeated, frowning. "Childish…"

Pamela blushed. "I'm… I'm sorry, it just seemed like something someone like us says…"

"Do you feel _villainous _Ivy?" he asked her, sneering. Pamela stared. Villainous? _Now_ who was being the childish one? She shook her head intently.

"I'm a scientist, doing…scientificy things?" She shrugged. "What the hell am I supposed to say?"

"Apologize to the human," he responded at once, "and sound sincere."

"Why should I!?" she demanded, stamping down angrily. "These are our _enemies_, Jason!"

"They're just cattle," he said absentmindedly, making a small incision into the woman's heart. "They're just cattle…"

"Whatever. I'm going out. I need a break from this smelly room…" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The woman smelled terrible. The man she had just injected had stopped screaming, joining the dead.

"While you're out, I need a few more for this evening's tests, if you don't mind," he called to her as she turned to leave. Pamela spun around, raising her eyebrows. How many more did he need, exactly? "And do me a favor and wheel that one out." He pointed at Pamela's most recent victim. "I won't need any more male autopsies for the day."

"Do it yourself," she demanded coolly. "I'm going to have dinner. A nice dinner."

"Dinner? It's only eleven in the morning."

"What-whatever." She shook her head, frowning. "I call it afternoon dinner. I hate that word _lunch_. It sounds so…sandwhichey." She shivered.

"Fine, if you insist, Ivy. Go one. Scoot." He fliggled his fingers and noticed her no more, intently shredding the woman's heart to ribbons before Pamela's very eyes. Pamela felt uncomfortable. He did not sound the happiest about being told no. Quickly, she stammered out a shaky, "I'll g-get some more…"

Woodrue only grunted, separating the slices of heart onto a tray and picking up a syringe of one of the many mutagens that he had been working with. She turned away, trying to force her mind upon the Italian place near Futters. The MacMaroni it was called. Stupid name, stupid pun, but definitely top notch in Italian delicacies. She wanted meat, and a lot of it. Over the course of her time as Nature's bounty hunter, she had become a religious carnivore, obsessing over meat ravenously. She never had salad. No part of her could ever imagine murdering her children… Vegetables were meant to be worshiped, not eaten.

She passed Alissa as she went. Alissa was no longer hooked up to the machine of many plugs. Woodrue had at last taken her off of the support. However, he still kept her in her controlled coma. "She'll be ready," he had told her, "in time." How much time he had not specified, but it concerned Pamela dearly. She missed her friend. She wanted her friend back…

She squeezed Alissa's hand tightly, and gave the woman a single kiss upon the lips. She preferred men, but it just felt appropriate. Alissa was a part of her life, one of her only true friends. At least, she hoped so. What would Alissa be like when she finally awoke? Could Woodrue truly do what Pamela had failed to do?

_You're going to have to trust him_. Yeah, alright, fine.

She considered the encased monsters across the way. Woodrue's green nightmares stared at her from the distance, scratching at the glass. She felt her heart break for them. How she longed to free them. How she longed to unleash them upon the city. But Woodrue had assured her that this would come, in time, as well. In this place they would be developed, and then shipped off to his private estate in Oregon. There, they would be allowed to fully mature into adults that could be controlled and advance into their next great stages. In time, these creatures would come to be able to impersonate humans, blending in perfectly until it was time to strike… The theory on going about this had fascinated Pamela, whose knowledge on bio-chemistry was taking an even greater leap lately now that she was able to work with Jason Woodrue outside of class. Classes themselves were getting too easy. She was advancing through her coursework quickly, astounding professors and peers alike. The pheromones helped move her along, too. Sometimes she did not need the useless requirements that her professors religiously distributed. She would convince them to give her free passes during these times. Of course, she could only do this for certain assignments: group assignments and presentations would draw attention.

So it was that Pamela Isley came to realize a simple truth: balancing her mission with balancing her academic obligations was pure nightmare and, at times, impossible. She needed to finish school so that she could actually do some good. With her work and Woodrue's, they had already discussed future plans to start a business together, studying botanic remedies, which would fund their true work… work that must be hidden from the law's eyes at all times. With the influence of the Woodrue family and a corporation that played the pharmaceuticals well, it would be easier to secure their targets by the hundreds. The human genocide would be one step closer to being fulfilled.

_I'll never give up. _This was just a roadblock. Mother knew it. So did Woodrue. And he was helping her as much as he could. The two of them had already begun to outline their plans for the academia masters. The Dean, the two of them had agreed, would have to be removed soon. He would simply disappear. Woodrue had a suitable candidate in mind that could (and would) replace the man, allowing Woodrue access into the school's deeper interiors…

And Pamela? Pamela Isley would be protected. It had been long since the last harassment by the police…

Every day, Pamela walked past the signs on the billboards. **MISSING: ALISSA JAGNER, **blah blah blah… she was missing, along with countless other victims claimed by Poison Ivy over the course of her work. So what? What good did the signs do, anyway? People _knew_ already that those humans were missing. Why waste paper… paper from trees that had been murdered and molded for human entertainment? It made her just absolutely pissy, so much so that she had begun to tear the things down when she saw them… Well, almost all of them. For some reason, she could never bring herself to trash the fliers of Alissa. She began to collect them in secret, and the massive pile was growing beautifully beneath her bed at home. Pictures of Alissa… her best friend…

She stepped out into the sun of the morning gleam. Woodrue's city home was a fine little cobblestoned cabin on the south side, sitting at the dead end of a quiet little avenue near the amusement park. Every hour, it seemed, the cheers and laughter of children and adults both in play would saturate the air, and Pamela would smile. She needed to visit this particular amusement park soon. Rumor (and a tourist point) had it that the Joker himself had an atom bomb stuffed beneath it somewhere! Naturally, after these rumors had begun to circulate, the park had been shut down for an extensive three-month search, but after it was concluded that no bomb could be found, the park had been reopened. Now, people came from all around just to experience being in this potentially ticking time bomb of a fun world.

_What the hell! _

She skipped merrily up the way, giggling to herself like a child. She was going to go for it! It was a fine Saturday morning! The blessed smell of funnel cakes, corndogs, fried Oreo pies and cotton candy were only small delights that overwhelmed her. In the air, there was bliss! Everyone had a smile upon their face, every child cackling with laughter! She practically danced up the gold and blue cobblestone path to the entry way, brushing her crimson mass with one hand to a side. Her tight, short green shorts and black crop top were already drawing stares from loiterers at the fence: why not complete the illusion? She blew them all a kiss, that gang of oglers, who studied her pale skin and meaty hips with catcalls and whistling as she bustled up to the ticket booth.

The old man inside smiled himself as he beheld the goddess before him.

"Just you?"

"Just me." She winked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the pink spray bottle. She rested her arms on the counter and beamed at the old man. "Can I come in?"

"Odd, now. Someone as pretty as you needs an escort. You sure it's just you?"

Pamela feigned an annoying giggle, acting how she had trained herself to act so many times before. "Yeeeessss…." she cooed.

"Well, for you, I'll give you a discount, alright, if you promise to keep it between me and you, eh?" He winked back. Pamela grinned, and sprayed the pheromones in his face. His impish flirtiness suddenly became absolute joy. "I'll let you in… oh God, you're so beautiful…"

"Heel, boy," Pamela whispered, leaning in and kissing him. His old lips tasted stale, but she just felt right about it. She left him giggling stupidly, in love with her. She chuckled to herself. Sometimes it was fun just _playing_ with the humans. They really did have their purposes. She only glanced back once as she crossed into the busy funland. Her gate oglers had disappeared. Only the slightest feeling of ominous thoughts cold showered her, but warmth quickly returned as she looked around and beheld the children's metropolis around her.

Merry-Go-Rounds with dragons and beavers. Several roller-coasters that probably gave breathtaking views of the city skyscape. Tilt-o-Whirls and Ferris Wheels, bumper cars and street performers who swallowed swords and lit themselves on fire… She had never really been to a place quite like this. Sure, she'd been out to a few party centers, but she had never taken the time to really experience a true amusement park like this. When she had been a child, her parents had never taken her. She had been "too fragile" of mind… Fuckers. She was glad that they'd been rotting in the dirt for years now. She probably would have returned to kill them herself if they had not beaten her to the job.

She took off. Games lined up along one pathway: basketball and ski ball, firing ranges and Pick-a-Ducks, even. Holy hell, an actual fucking Pick-A-Duck!

The ducks (rubber and adorable) were floating about in a large metal tub. Green ducks, red ducks, blue ducks, yellow ducks, even pink ducks and white ducks! _Quack quack_, they sang! _Quack quack! _Only she heard them of course. She crouched down before the tub and examined the ducks, her body shaking so hard… It was time. It was time for her to pick up a duck! The booth runner, a man with a large orange afro, leaned forward in his chair and grinned. He had five golden teeth.

"Got a kid, ma'am? Pick up a duck, see what number is on the bottom, and you win a prize depending on the number! See here." He motioned at the line of toys behind him. Large bears, larger green dragons, rubber snakes and huge, inflatable baseball bats and swords of foam… And then a balloon rose caught her eye. More, it was a rubber rose, very long, its bloom a bright blue. She wanted that rose. Grinning at the man, she asked, "Does it cost anything?"

"One dollar!"

Pamela shrugged. Why not? The man would be dead in a few years' time, perhaps sooner, if her and Woodrue were successful… She rifled through her wallet and pulled out a single dollar bill. The man grinned, motioning at the ducks, and she picked up a bright green one. She liked green…

On the bottom of the duck was a number **4\. **She, and the man, glanced up at the rack, finding the number **4** row. She had her choice of a large brown bear, a bright blue, fuzzy snake or a foam sword. Pamela frowned.

"I want that rose," she said, pointing at it. The man nodded understandably. "You're a beautiful girl, alright… I'll give you a free one. Pick up another duck." _Another!? Holy mother of fuck, ANOTHER!? _Breathing hard, her heart thumping like a dancer in her chest, she nodded and picked up another duck, this time a bright red one. She liked the color of her hair, too…

A **6** this time. Now she could pick up a balloon baseball bat, a rubber snake, a fuzzy armadillo or a free pass for a small ice cream cone from the Lunewickie's Ice Cream Stop near the front gates… _Fuck! FUCK! JUST FUCK! I WANT THAT ROSE! _

"I want…the rose…"

The orange man frowned. "Ma'am? Come on, I gave you a free shot at it. Pick a prize from **4 **and **6**, alright."

No. No, she was not leaving without that rose! She leaned forward, and doused the man with her charms at once. He went very giddy under her powerful influence, his mind addled by the sweet smell of her pheromones.

"The rose, please," she repeated, coldly. He reached out dumbly for her, his head swaying, and he mumbled something like, "Give you anything…anything…" He gave her the rose. For good measure, she also took his wallet as compensation, emptying out the hundreds of dollars' worth of cash and placing it back in his pocket, all the while staying close to him so as not to reveal these actions to the many passerby who were enjoying themselves. To anyone looking, she seemed to be embracing him. Naturally, she was the man's girlfriend… of course…

"Here, you can have this." He jingled his keys before her face too, his eyes going out of focus, his grin still wide and stupid… but she was already skipping away, rubber rose in hand.

She took to the Tilt-O-Whirl first, holding her accompanying rider's hand as they spun about and about. She was a nice young woman and, under Pamela's influence, ogled with delight at her held hand. She tried to follow Pamela after the ride was over, but Pamela had already faded into the crowd. Soon after, she spotted another man, alone, leaning against a fence, eating cotton candy. Ambushing him, she stole his cotton candy from his grasp first… and was already dousing him even as he opened his mouth to swear at her. He, too, became her date for a time, accompanying her in a worshipable fashion onto a dragon at the Merry-Go-Round, in the car of the Grundy Mountain Roller Doom coaster, and finally into the Tunnel of Love itself. True as the movies had shown, Gotham had made boats into the shapes of swans and ducks. Pamela drug the infatuated man into a swan with her, and as the darkness overtook them, she pulled the man in close, kissing him with the deepest, most sincere passion. Whoever he was, whatever his name was, right now he was her boyfriend. He moaned loudly, shaking as she forced herself upon him, wanting to experience, for the first time in her life, the wonders of the dark, perfume scented Tunnel of Love as their automated swan swum them across a swift lagoon, a legion of glow-in-the-dark stars overwhelming them from above.

_Oh, my Mother Earth… I feel so REAL right now. I'm kissing a boy in the Tunnel of Love… I've wanted to do this for so long… _

She did not know how long the tunnel went. Could there be time for other things in the dark? Her hormones screamed at her to find out. She allowed him to touch her, chancing it… It was everything she had ever dreamed of, too. In here, she was a girl living a dream, embracing the truth of teenager hood without the constipations of constant therapy from Coleman's Ridge…without the onslaught of Dr. Mamiste's constant insistence that she cooperate her thoughts… without people throwing bags of feces and rocks at her window in the middle of the night, shouting at her that she was a "fucking little plant freak…"

_This is MY moment! This is happening! _

When she saw, through her dazed, sexed up vision, the approaching tunnel's end with its lights, she pushed the man gently away from his…indulgences. Pulling her shorts back to decency levels, she held the man close to him, and when they had reached the dock at the end, she decided to leave him there, sitting dumbfounded and drugged in the boat, slipping away before boat attendants came to check.

That…had been wonderful. A peaceful time, with a peaceful man, in a peaceful world of false stars and swan boats. She wanted to ride again… but there was still so much of this place to explore. She had to pull herself away from the ride and amuse herself even more so! She had to experience! She had to know!

She found a very large tent soon enough. Orange with black stripes, it was colossal and surrounded by eons of clowns who juggled about bowling pins and clowns who crashed the unicycles they rode about on and spat out bicycle parts from their mouths… She ventured inside.

Trapeze artists! Actual trapeze artists! They were graceful and divine in how they sailed throughout the air, lords of the act. They spun throughout hoops and dove through flaming rings. A ringmaster stood at the ground level, in the middle of a large, circular wooden ring, where a lion was being led back into its cage by a clown that held a whip in hand. The ringmaster was fat and hairy, and as he danced about, she found herself amused and filled with a child-like fascination for all things silly and unrefined.

Pamela found a seat near the entrance, entranced by the sight around her, by the awed crowd… The lights were dimming. The trapeze artists were slipping away into the dark. All around the stage, a blue fog began to float upward, overwhelming the place as blue and green lights blared down to the middle of the performing utopia. The ringmaster bowed to the audience, tossing aside his hat, and he bellowed into his megaphone, "LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! BOYS AND GIRLS OF ALL AGES! BEAUTIES, UGLIES, DRUGGIES AND HOMELESS! WAR VETERANS, IMPS, DEVILS AND ANGELS AND WHOEVER THE HELL ELSE IS IN THE AUDIENCE TONIGHT… WELCOME TO INTERMISSION!"

"FOR THIS AFTERNOON'S INTERMISSION SHOW, WE HAVE A VERY SPECIAL GUEST. SOME OF YOU HAVE SEEN HER BEFORE! SOME OF YOU HAVE ASKED HER FOR HER NUMBER AND WHATNOT! BUT TODAY, FOLKS, SHE'S COME BACK TO REMIND US OF WHY SHE'S SUCH A WONDROUS FLOWER! NOW, ALL OF YOU MORTALS AND PATHETIC FOOLS…"

The fog dissipated at last, and the crowd cheered. So did Pamela. Seemingly out of nowhere, there stood a woman. Well-built and dazzling in her ocean blue leotard, the dark-haired woman with the cropped haircut beamed at the audience, blowing them kisses and air high fives as she twirled slowly about the stage, music playing from fine, jazzy tunes.

"…WORSHIP HER! BOW DOWN, MORTAL FOOLS, AND WORSHIP HER! THE GODDESS VALERE FRAZEER!" The ringmaster fell to the woman's feet and began to worship. The crowd exploded in laughter and cheers. Valere Frazeer bowed to her audience… and suddenly, she was _flying_! Well, it _seemed_ she was flying… Suddenly, she was soaring through the air, the wind her slave as she seemingly moon-jumped onto the rafters high above. The crowd was exploding in frantic joy, Pamela herself screaming and whooping as she cried out for more and more…

Frazeer really _was_ a human goddess. She practically flew through the air as she leaped clean across the tent, from one rafter to another, spinning about she flew, flipping at every angle imaginable and landing with perfect, cat-like grace. As she sailed about, fire suddenly exploded from her! There were screams, both of fear and excitement. The fire exploded, it seemed, from the woman's very arms, and a grand deal of it cascaded down right at the net that had been established for her. She was now freefalling through the air, the safety net burning away to pure cinder…

But, miraculously, the woman landed, perfectly, crouched down upon the stage! It…was…impossible! She had fell at least a hundred feet, but here she was, bowing at a screaming crowd, elegantly positioned and blowing more and more kisses to her obsessive fans.

And then she was gone. In a flash, blue smoke suddenly exploded all around her, and the woman was gone in an instant. The screams of joy never stopped. Pamela was positively leaping up and down, an hour later, when she had finished watching more and more of the daredevils on wires… with a surprise visit from Frazeer at the end, who actually managed to jump and land on one foot upon a tall, thin pole, before she flipped over in the air, landed once more upon a single hand, and then spun about on the pole until she reached the ground.

This woman… this show… this park… It was Heaven. She realized that it could not be anything less!

The ringmaster promised Frazeer's return at the next grand show, which would take place in two hours. Fiercely promising herself that she would come back for that show, awed by the ringmaster's promises that Frazeer would be doing an entirely different set of tricks and wonders, she bound out of the tent, her heart hammering with such joy, such bliss!

Her mind was reeling about with all of the fine excitement that she had experienced, her body and soul craving to know deeper the passionate fruits of amusement… And it was her searching that led her to…him. One of the hims. _A_ him…

She stopped, her mind going blank and her body still. She could not believe what she was seeing… He was right there in front of her, his back turned to her, his attention completely upon the slender, black haired goddess that he had his arm around.

Donovan Ventimago was sipping a bottle of Bruskee beer and laughing at some joke his girlfriend had just told him. They were walking past a row of water gun ranges (_"Squirt the gun, and watch 'em run! Get to the end first and win a water blaster of your very own!"_)

Her mind went blank of her regards and entertainment necessities. Donovan Ventimago was standing right-the-fuck-in-front-of-her.

_Right in front of me…right in front of me…_

Memories came flooding back at once. Memories she wanted to forget...

Memories that made her smile regardless.

_Oh, boy… _

Yes… Mother Earth had brought her to this park for a reason. It had been a command! A COMMAND.

She stalked the pair of them. Stalked them silently and professionally, never taking her eyes off of them for a moment. She followed at a decent distance, watching the muscular titan of a man pop his lady's skirt with perverted glee and toss the beer bottle aside, hitting a clown in the back of the head…

She smiled again. _Oh, you bad boy…_

Her soul began to whisper a promise: The next time he left this park, it would be in a body bag… But no! No, no, no! This… was perfect. Jason had asked her for more subjects… and she _had _promised.

So, then, she needed to get rid of the legs and mini-skirt. Taking a close examination of the French woman, Pamela decided she did not like her at all. She talked in that Valley Girl prominence, and walked with a suggestive manner, giggling loudly at nothing funny in particular.

_Okay, then… _

She could easily lure the woman into the dark, douse her, and force the girl to lock herself in a bathroom stall or something. Then, Donovan could be intercepted…

She moved fast. As the pair of them reached a fried foods vendor, they stopped, Donovan eyeballing the gator-on-a-sticks that hung beautifully from the roof of the vendor. Pamela moved behind him silently, staring at the back of his head… her fists were clenched and trembling. Donovan shifted uncomfortably, as if he felt someone watching him… and he turned.

Pamela, however, had already moved out of sight, vanishing into the heavy crowd that came by. Donovan himself caught a brief flash of crimson hair… but it meant nothing to him. Nothing about crimson hair was odd. He shook his head, shrugging, dismissing the odd feeling as a random occurrence with no source…

But the source watched him from the darkness behind the vendor station. She could see his face through the foggy glass on the other side, and Miss Pink Lips crossing her arms impatiently as Donovan scanned the foods carefully. Her heart was emitting waves of toxic rage. He was here. He existed. Sinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsin!

When the man finally decided upon his fried delight, he munched on the alligator carcass with deep content as the two lovers began to make their way towards the animal pins. The petting shelters were massive and cloaked in the dark of the great barns before them, hosting hundreds of stalls with neighing horses, moo'ing cows, oinking pigs and baaaaa'ing goats. The lovely lady collapsed before a stall of very fat swine and squealed with delight, prodding them in the noses. Pamela, meanwhile, kept her eyes on Donovan. He was standing before a large black mare and rubbing his hand up and down its muzzle. She fiddled around with her poisons, from the black Nyrox around her neck to the encased syringes hidden in the side pocket of her left boot. Just beyond the stalls, she could see the forest, and a gate that led out to a back parking lot…

It was almost as if Mother Earth _wanted_ her to act. She had set things up just so.

Pamela made up her mind. She knew what to do.

Quietly, confidently, she walked forward and came to stand behind Donovan, his girl still busying herself with the pigs. This time, he felt the presence so close behind him, heard her breath… and she confirmed his senses by tapping him on the shoulder.

When he looked around and saw her standing there, one might have accused him of shitting a golden brick, right there and then. He stared at her with wide eyes, suddenly the definition of uncomfortable. Pamela, meanwhile, beamed up at him happily, her grin so fucking sincere.

"Donovan, baby!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. He was still rooted to the spot, dumbstruck about who was standing before him. "I've missed you!"

The girlfriend looked around at once, and when she saw the redheaded _hussie_ huggin _her_ man, she leapt up at once, a savage expression upon her beautiful features. Donovan shoved Pamela away, and she went crumpling onto the ground. But even from there, she exhaled excitedly, staring up at him with wide, beaming eyes.

"Who are you!?" the girlfriend demanded, embracing Donovan protectively. Donovan, who, although being naturally very dark, paled considerably, an ugly expression upon her face.

"Just some nutcase," he snapped. He pointed a finger at her in a threatening manner. "I told you before to stay the hell away from me, Isley."

Pamela stayed sitting upon the ground, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her knuckles, staring up at him inquisitively.

"But baby, you haven't called in so long," she insisted. "It's been far too long…" She held a peace sign up to her mouth and wiggled her tongue between the two fingers. She had seen that on a movie once. She was certain it had something to do with a woman's birth canal. Just as Pamela predicted, the girlfriend became enraged at once, and she suddenly stepped forward… and kicked Pamela as hard as she could across the face.

_That… _that had not been expected.

The boot collided with Pamela's nose, and blood squirted as she went rolling away across the smelly hay, colliding against the pig pen headfirst. Her world shattered around her as she, dazed and confused, tried to get her mental bearings. That… had just happened. The woman had _kicked_ her…

_Not…according to plan… _

But Donovan and his kicker were coming forward, and they towered over her in her pathetic state. Donovan's eyes were ablaze.

"It's odd. It's really, really odd. I thought we'd left an impression… I thought we'd left our mark _and_ our message…"

His girlfriend suddenly gasped. "Wait… you mean this is-"

Donovan nodded, and he reached down and pulled Pamela up to her feet by the scruff of her neck. Pamela stared into his mad eyes with fear of her own. "That's right, Rosa… this is Virginia."

_Virginia?_ Pamela's eyes widened. _Virginia!? _

Donovan could sense her confusion, and he grinned. "Oh yeah, Pammy… Virginia Vixen. That's what we called you, for the purposes of the video description. Couldn't exactly called you by your real name. Helps avoid legal problems…"

And suddenly Pamela understood. The video… they had recorded her rape, and posted it online after careful editing… She understood _exactly_ what he was talking about. She was Virginia Vixen, the woman who, undoubtedly, was _enjoying_ herself as three men raped her, one…after…another…

"So, you missed me that much, Pamela?" He chuckled, and pulled her close to him. His lips were on her in an instant, and she felt disgusted and sick. If only, if _only_ she were wearing her special lipstick… Rosa punched him on the shoulder, hissing.

"Don't kiss her!" she shrieked. She looked around worriedly. People were staring from a little ways away… but most were pretending not to notice the situation. This was Gotham City. People kept to their own…

"You shut up!" Donovan warned Rosa. "I only feel like teaching one whore a lesson for today." He glanced up, in the direction of the woods. "That will work. So, you missed me that much, Virginia?" He kissed Pamela again, and Pamela spat at him, viciously hissing as she struggled to get free. He grinned, licking at her saliva and shaking his head. He whispered, "Naughty…"

She was forced hard against the post of the stable in an instant. Still, no one came to intervene… Rosa fumed behind Donovan, her arms folded. Pamela surmised that the woman was not exactly here of her own desires. A whore, perhaps, or something deeper than that…

_But she still kicked me in the face… _

"Come on," Donovan said, spinning Pamela around and pinning her arms behind her. "We're going for a hike. You were an idiot, Isley. You should have kept your distance… I've _missed_ you…"

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing!?" Pamela demanded, still unable to break free of his football hold. "I'll scream!"

"Scream," he whispered in her ear… and she suddenly felt something cold against her throat. It did not take long to gather the feeling of a switchblade against one's skin. "Please scream…" He licked her ear. "God, please scream… I want you to scream…"

Pamela did not scream. Pamela did not say anything.

"Now… do you know what lesson I'm going to teach you today, whore?"

Whore. He had called her a whore. Still, she remained silent.

"Can we get the fuck out of here!?" Rosa demanded. Pamela heard the woman cough out hard and violently, with an _oomph_… She knew that Donovan had just kicked her.

"I said be quiet," Donovan said quietly. "The lesson, Isley," he whispered into Pamela's ear, "is that Gotham is filled with demons. It's filled with devils. Want to find out just how much?" He punted her forward, smelling her hair…

He was driving her forward in the direction of the gate… in the direction of the woods… in the direction of some dark fate…


	27. Chapter 27

When Donovan threw her against the oak tree, Pamela giggled insanely, whipping her head about, her crimsonness flailing about wildly. The pain in her back meant nothing. She stared up at the titan of a man and silently giggled and giggled… suddenly the entire world was hilarious.

"Why did you have to come back into my life, Isley?" Donovan breathed, kneeling down and waving the switchblade before her face. "Why did you have to come back and _touch_ me? Why did you have to bother me? You were old dirt… I didn't miss you."

"Why not?" Pamela leaned back against the three and loved the tree, needed the tree and wanted the tree… "Couldn't bear the guilt? Couldn't bear the discomfort of looking upon one of your _victims_…?"

Victims. It suddenly became evident to her just how much she adored that word…at this very moment, anyway. Especially _two_ victims! Rosa was standing behind Donovan, fuming… and Pamela saw that she was holding a very thick stick in hand. No, not a stick, a _brach_. Freshly torn off, too, by the looks of the end… _That bitch tore one of its arms off! _Savage hatred went through her body at once. She must kill! She must scratch out eyes!

Donovan smiled. "Victims? Guilt? What are you on about?" he asked softly. And then his fierce hand struck out and slammed her against the tree. She cried out in pain. The bark of the tree cut into her skin so mercilessly. Mother was displeased with her, it seemed. Perhaps she had gone about approaching Donovan in the wrong manner! Perhaps if she had stalked him _out_ of the park rather than _through _it!

"Are we going to blacken her?" Rosa asked quietly, visibly nervous. Donovan nodded.

"I spent months trying to wash your taste out of my mouth," he spat in Pamela's face. "I spent months trying to wash the _images_ out of my mind! What we did to you! What we did afterwards! Do you know how many hits that video's gotten!? Do you know how popular 'Virginia Vixen' really is!? A single frame in time and the entirety of a schism to follow!"

Pamela's eyebrows raised. How refined…

"Donovan…" Rosa was sounding impatient and her anxiety was all too clear.

"In a moment," he snapped, not taking his gaze off of his redheaded prey. "Dearest Pamela Isley… I tried to scrub every second of that night away. I tried to show it that I was stronger, that I was better… And your fucking face keeps popping up in my head! Same with Archie. He complained all the time, even when he thought no one could _hear_ him complaining! And when he started talking about it… you started haunting me too! It was contagious! You're like a disease!"

"You are aware," Pamela said quietly, coolly, "that I was raped by that I was raped by _you_?"

"Oh, yeah, sure… you're the victim, Pamela. You're the victim, you're the victim… How many nightmares have you had since it happened?" His voice shook as he asked. He sounded deadly serious about this question. Pamela blinked. He shook her fiercely, violently, and spat, "Tell me!"

"Nightmares?" she breathed back at him, smiling a small smile now. "I _became_ my nightmares…" Donovan blinked, frowning. What the hell did that mean!? Pamela shrugged. She continued with, "I suppose it doesn't matter… I took _action_, Donovan… as you took action that night. As Otto took action. As Archie took action. You helped me, all three of you… you opened my eyes to possibilities I had never been brave enough to acknowledge."

"I never wanted to see you again!" he hissed. "It took me forever to block you out! Why the hell did you come back for me!?"

"To maim you," she answered, so simply. "To beat on you, claw at you, and eventually poison you to death. To watch your choking and gagging on death, to take your body back to my home and _plaaaaaayy_ with it…" She giggled again after saying all of this. His expression was one of true horror. He looked as if he were trying to figure out whether she actually _meant_ any of this or not. She had to admit, she had given an over-the-top performance, but that was part of this…new sense of fun she had. It made her feel… _villainous_.

_There's that word again. Villainous. The ship's long since sailed on that one, sweetheart. _

Rosa stepped forward. "I'm starting."

Donovan held up his free hand, not taking his blade away from Pamela. "Wait," he said. He looked back at Pamela, his eyes deep and searching. There was something in them, those dark, woody spheres, that was almost pleading. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Pamela's heart leapt. Then, it froze. Donovan spat at the ground, the knife trembling. His teeth were gritted in rage and discomfort. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Pamela found her voice. "Are you really?"

"Yes, damn it! Yes I'm sorry! How could I not be!? How the living hell could I not be!? Archie told me… he told me that he wanted to kill himself, that he wanted to be raped a thousand times if it meant taking it back, what we did to you. He said that! And you know what? I started thinking the same fucking thing! Why!? Why do I care!? You were my property that night! Why the hell do I care!?" His hand slipped as he shook, and suddenly Pamela screamed. His blade actually cut into her neck! Not deep enough to do any real damage, but blood was trickling nonetheless. Donovan, however, had not noticed this at all. "Why!? Why, why, why!? I was doing fine for so long! I thought I'd gotten you out of my head!"

Pamela, breathing heavily, began to laugh quietly and shook her head. "I'm toxic to the mind…to the body…to the spirit. My effects are clear… I'm just too desirable to push out of the mind…"

_Whack! _This time Pamela's scream shook the trees, and birds were flying in every direction in terrified alarm. Rosa had stepped forward and whapped her across the head with her branch. Bruised, throbbing and bloodied from the nose now, Pamela hit the ground. Rosa stood over her, holding the branch like a sword, shaking her own head.

"Why are we drawing this out?" she asked Donovan quietly, and she kicked, hard, a fierce strike into Pamela's shin. Again and again she struck, Donovan watching with wide-eyed horror. Rosa struck Pamela with the branch many, many times, Pamela crying and pleading…

She was in so much pain and could not defend herself. Her, Poison Ivy, the woman who had controlled men and women alike for so very long with inhuman influence… she was now the property of this branch, and this fierce woman. Every time she was hit, she sunk down just a little more into the dark void that had become her soul over the past year. She clawed down, deep into Mother Earth's dimension, trying to become one with the dirt, trying to transcend and become nature itself! _I have to escape! I have to escape the human skin! No more skin, no more pain, no more skin, no more pain! _

"That's enough," Donovan cried out. "This is my part, Rosa! This is mine!"

Rosa stopped her relentless beating of Pamela, and turned to face Donovan. The woman had a deadly look in her eyes. "Then do something," she demanded of him, prodding the beaten, pathetic, half-conscious Pamela Isley with the branch. "If you want her pushed out of your head, then do something _now_. Don't bother bringing her out here if you're not going to _act_!"

Donovan stepped forward and yanked the branch out of her hand, so swiftly and so firmly. Rosa froze on the spot, her eyes wide. He had moved so fast. He held the thick branch before her, placing the end of it against her throat. His eyes… from what Pamela could make out through her blurring vision, were fiery.

She forgave him in that instant.

"You're out of control," he whispered, stepping towards Rosa… and Rosa backed away, terrified. "You're out of control and you know it."

"I'm just doing what you should do," Rosa shot back. She looked down and saw Pamela trying to crawl away… and immediately her kick into the back of Pamela's head brought the woman into an impossible state of dis-there. Pamela could only stew upon the ground, her lids heavy, her body burning… But Donovan was moving.

Rosa never saw it coming. The branch swung through the air, with the speed and magnificence of lightning, and broke in half across the woman's temple. Rosa's eyes went wide, and she only managed to croak out one sound of solitary surprise: "Oh…" That little "Oh" meant the world in that moment, a firm exploration of the concept of the world. Donovan released the branch… but it stayed securely locked away within Rosa's head. He had struck her with a particularly sharp edge of the blunt. It was quite beautifully impaled within her temple, for a moment, Rosa swayed on the spot, not looking quite sure that she were aware of her predicament for the most momentary of times… and then she felt the blood trickling down her head, and this triggered the collapse.

She went down into a crumpled mess beside Pamela's boot, erupting into a small, almost invisible seizure before becoming still. Donovan fell down beside her, looking lost in the moment, unsure of his current position, paled considerably and shaking. Trembling hands touched a still, still face. He made a noise like a howling dog, and fell away from Rosa, hyperventilating.

"I-I-I…"

"Y-you did…beautifully…" came the hoarse whisper of Pamela Isley. Donovan looked at her crazily. Pamela was shifting about on the ground, staring at Rosa's body with reverence. "Y-you… saved me…"

"No! I did not save you!" He kicked away and jumped to a standing position, savage as he stood over her and shook his head. "She…she had no right to-to… _GOD!_" He kicked a pile of leaves and sent them cascading all over Rosa's dear, staring eyes. "What did you do to me!?" he roared at Pamela, threatening to break free of his skin and become something of terror and hatred, something inhuman. His eyes bulged madly. The titan descended.

Pamela could no longer scream. She was suddenly aware of being drug across the forest floor, past Rosa's body and into the thickness of a great brush. Donovan was throwing her into the thick green…

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he whispered savagely as he crawled through the green for her. "I haven't been able to stop…"

_No… get away…get away from me now… _But he refused to obey her thoughts.

He was on top of her in a moment… and she had no strength to fight him off.

"We tried so hard," he whispered, "to get you out of our heads, all of us. Me. Archie. Otto. And then Archie went missing. No one knows where he went, Isley… I don't want to end up like that… He let the thoughts of you destroy him! He let them drive him away into the unknown! Not me! Not me!" His knife sailed, and her shirt was torn. "What we did that night, we were stupid! We were _wrong_! But Isley… I have the solution. I have the means to make things right again…"

"B-by what… h-how…" Pamela tried, one last time, to fight back, and failed at the thought process.

"I'll d-do it again… you owe me that much, Isley! You made me kill Rosa… made me kill Rosa…

_I didn't make you do anything! _She tried to voice this truth aloud, tried to force him to hear the words and acknowledge their meaning-

Nothing came. Donovan shook his head, his eyes closing for a second. "She was the new girl," he whispered. His eyes snapped open. There was something inhuman within them, something like an animal. "She was the new girl. She'd just come in with the shipments last month…" He was crying now. Tears dripped down onto Pamela's face. "Got her and a few others from the boats. They were going to go far. They had potential. Otto had it all set up…"

Some jolt of strength returned to Pamela at the mention of Otto's name. Her vision cleared a little. Donovan's torn face was all too evident. "He… he was going to make me his business partner, once I broke in a few of the new girls. We were going to go around the world… collecting them… selling them… They were under the impression that they were being given modelling opportunities." He laughed nervously…anxiously… Pamela could only stare at the man. "Rosa, she… she was special. She knew about the operation, knew about the ploy… she was going to help us collect others around Gotham, help us package them and ship them…" His head hung low, and he cried even harder. "It was all going so good…"

Pamela felt sick now. Trafficking! The bastard was talking about trafficking!

"We…we got the idea from you, you know." He grinned at her. "From _you_! When we realized the fame and results that could be obtained from stupid, naïve bitches like you, we knew we had what it took in this line of work. You were our beta product, Miss Virginia. A sample. People dug it, too… You inspired us, Pamela!"

_You're sick! YOU'RE BEYOND SICK! _

"You inspired us!" he insisted madly. "Showed us the way, showed us the truth about ourselves! You…you're my world, Pamela…my life…"

_He's talking like he's under the influence of the pheromones! But I haven't doused him! He's… he's actually been obsessed with me! _

"I thought so many times of coming back for you," he whispered, his lips inches from hers. "I thought so many times about returning to you… Taking you again… selling you, even…"

She was going to throw up, any minute now…

"But… but you just _had_ to go to the police. Well, the police belong to the rich and powerful, Pamela. And the Batman… he doesn't care about your kind. No one in Gotham cares… but you still had to go to them. I couldn't risk it, not this soon… I was waiting for this. I was waiting for a chance!"

_You're not going to take me… you're not! _

Donovan sighed, chuckling. He looked over at Rosa's body. "Ah, fuck… what a predicament. She was a great fighter, a thug off the streets from Paris. She had so much potential. I wanted to see how far she'd go, once we sold her to the Japanese waiting for us in Ibaraki… But you had to show up. You had to _remind_ me…"

_Mother Earth… send me help now… send me help now… _

"But you're all alone here, Pamela Isley," he whispered, kissing her again. "You're mine. Rosa's gone now… thanks to you… so you're going to take her place. I have an order for three girls to be delivered to the Japanese in month. Otto's finalizing the deal now. Since you killed Rosa-"

_I DIDN'T KILL HER!_

"you'll be taking her place… I'm going to give you to the Japanese. What they do with you after that is not my concern… I'll finally be rid of you… I'll be free of you…" He sounded desperate. And his grin that came now was beyond twisted. 

Donovan giggled. He was quite mad.

"If only you'd stayed away… if only…"

_If only I had…. If only I had… _

"Before I give you to the Japanese, though—I need to make sure you're ready. I need to test the product I'm trying to sale."

_NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! _

"And Otto will be happy to see you again, Pamela. So happy…"

_NO! NO! _

"Hold still."

And for the second time in Pamela Isley's life, Donovan Ventimago violated the bonds of consensual sanctuary. And this time, his knife worked with him.

Pamela Isley blacked out. It was too much.

It was all too much, her excitement. Wesker had permitted her into new quarters. The garden was magnificently grown, a flourishing rainforest within a massive greenhouse enclosure, abundant with thriving flora. She walked nude and free through the garden, calling the plants to her as she walked, and came they did, entwining her limbs and hair and saturating her in pollen. She was in a place that was _right_¸ a place that belonged to her!

She walked across a path of lily pads that decorated a small, shallow lagoon, finding a private grove where Rionus flowers and hemlock flourished. Poison. Perfect. Pamela stretched out across this throne of flowers and moaned, aroused by the life that thrived around her. These flowers were all that mattered in the whole wide world. Her work on Prometheus finished, and with Wesker finalizing the presentations to the general public, Pamela was given permission to stay in this place until the time came to transfer to Woodrue's facility for the inevitable meeting with Lasetta the goddess.

As she lay across the flora, wrapping herself in the vines and leaves, she kicked her legs into the air, calling forth the plants from all around. They came, vines and ivy, flowers and grass… they all came to her when she called, and they began to cocoon her body, enveloping her into an eternity…

_Life is fine now. We went through hell. But now we're thriving. _

Life was hell throughout those terrible moments. True hell. Death was the only state of being.

There were countless cuts decorating her body. Her blood was running down her chest, breasts, arms and legs… her clothing was thrown about the forest floor… she lay naked, violated, and still. So very still…

Donovan was still at it, in control and in total power over her soul. She was his _property_. She may very well die soon, at any moment…

And still, she lay so still. Stiller than still. She was stone. She was rock. She was petrification.

_But I'm still alive…_

Not for long.

_I can escape this… _

Sure you can.

She must.

Donovan was crying the entire time. Crying! His tears mixed with her blood. He had forgotten all about Rosa's corpse lying nearby, now the attraction of the local bugs. The sun was reaching its closing time. Already it had begun to drop and the evening had begun to creep in. Pamela, whatever part of her was still aware of the existence around her, feared that Donovan may not stop torturing her…raping her…until she had expired.

And all the while, he kept pleading with some invisible force, "All mine…you're all mine… you're mine…"

And then other times he would say, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… forgive me… please Pamela forgive me…" It was these times when he would thrust hardest, cut deepest! Sometimes, she found a small whimper, at one point a hoarse, whispery scream. But she was so weak and so stone-like. She wished she would die. She wanted to die. She must die.

"You'll be fine," he whispered pleadingly to her, his shaking hand cutting into her flesh with the switchblade. He just made random cuts here and there, each time sending agony through Pamela's body… "I promise. They'll take care of you. Easy peasy, Japanesey…"

_Easy peasy, lemon squeezy…_

"Right as rain…right as rain…"

_Such a man is quite insane… _

"I love you, Pamela. I love you…"

_So it's true…so it's true… _

Something quivered in the bushes behind Donovan, and he glanced over his shoulder. It only happened for a second, before quietly dissipating into total silence again. He blinked. Animals. He turned his attention back to her.

"Do you understand obsession?" he asked Pamela, cutting into his own skin with the blade. He grimaced in pain, grunting loudly, and managed a fine red line down his forearm. He giggled again. "Do you understand _love_, Pamela?"

She shifted her head ever so slightly. It was all that she could do to manage a nod. Oh how weak she was…

"You never forget your first love." He forced another kiss upon her, drinking her in. Drinking her very soul!

Something moved about in the trees above. Leaves fluttered down to them both. Donovan was so intent upon kissing Pamela that he noticed nothing… but oh how she saw! She saw the dark shadow sitting there, hidden within the leaves. It crouched down low, staring…staring at them both… She could not make out what she was looking at. She could not make out anything in the world. Some shadowy form that meant nothing, did nothing but stare and stare and stare…

Donovan pulled away, breathing hard. His face was red, his eyes blotchy.

"Please forgive me…" he whispered, stroking her cheek. "Be mine… I can h-hide you… I can hide you, yes… Keep you for myself…"

And Pamela finally, finally found some semblance of strength. That was the final straw. She would go out defying him. Taking all of her energy and forcing it to her mouth, she managed to force out, "Drop dead!" It took a lot from her to say it. Donovan's head dropped… and that was when the dark shadow descended.

Pamela watched the creature falling through the air, and along with it, a very long, thick vine… The figure landed behind Donovan, with beautiful, cat-like grace. For a wild, crazy moment, an insane one to be sure, Pamela thought she was seeing Valere Frazeer, the woman from the circus who had performed such divine acrobatic feats… but then she saw the person stand up, and realized that this was an entirely different person—but still a woman.

Donovan noticed Pamela's wide-eyed gaze, and he quickly looked around. Both he and his victim went numb as they beheld the person before them.

It was Alissa! Alissa Jagner, standing tall and confident, a dark, cold expression upon her beautifully restored features. She had been given a new sort of wardrobe, too. It was something like a leotard, but it was made from many, many leaves of Hedera canariensis…ivy leaves. A dark green dance skirt hid her hips. Long, green rubber gloves and dark green rubber boots were positioned in a combat stance. She was the most beautiful thing Pamela had ever witnessed. Alissa's eyes were hidden behind a leafy, dark green masquerade mask. Her lips were painted lime.

She held up a single hand, giving Donovan a brief, half-assed gesture that was something like a wave, her expression still so very, very icy.

"I've seen enough," she whispered, shaking her head. She gripped tightly the long vine that she held in her hand. There was something about that vine that was…off. It looked sleek and very thick, almost glistening with some sort of a glossiness… Donovan held the knife in front of him, breathing hard.

"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Alissa looked from the switchblade in his hand to his long, erect penis, still dripping with the lubrication of his most recent violation of a woman's body. Alissa's expression went from icy to deathly with the shadow that overtook her in that moment.

"You're dead," she whispered.

Pamela summoned up her strength enough to cry out, "A-Al-isss-a…."

Alissa nodded. "Hold on, Ivy. Toxica is here." And Alissa, or…Toxica…? moved forward at once. Her high kick was true, knocking Donovan's arm upward. Donovan cried out, but Alissa had slipped forward, swiftly, and her gloved hand was wrapping around his knife hand. She disarmed him so easily through his shock, shaking her head as they stood nose to nose.

"You shouldn't be here," Donovan moaned. Alissa looked down, right at the man's privates… and the knife went down with her gaze.

Donovan's scream was an unholy, beautiful sound. Birds and animals took off, desperate to escape such a noise and the agony that came with it. Half of his shaft dropped down onto the ground. The man froze on the spot, staring in silent disbelief at his severed manhood… and then Alissa struck again. His testicles went next. Blood pulsed out of his destroyed genitals, and Alissa grinned. She took Donovan by the throat with her free hand and stabbed him cleanly in the gut. He moaned, his lips trembling, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear.

He fell to his knees, staring up at Alissa, lost in another dimension… and that was when she walked around him, the vine she had brought with her in hand, and promptly began to strangle him, noosing him tightly with the thing. He choked and gagged, unable to fight against her, still caught in the shock as he stared down at his severed pieces, and the knife that bled him from the stomach, still impaling him happily red… Alissa put all of her strength into his strangulation, and after several more moments, Donovan stopped struggling and choking altogether. He went very still and became very silent, staring forward into absolute oblivion.

Alissa released him. His corpse fell face forward into the dirt, the vines still wrapped tightly around his throat. Pamela stared, awestruck and numb at the scene that she had just witnessed. It had been the most beautiful thing. The most beautiful thing of all.

Alissa wasted no time and coming to her, dropping down beside her, her face suddenly filled with deepest concern. "Oh, Ivy," she whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted all over the cuts and bruises. She was horrorstruck. "Oh, Mother Earth… what did he do to you, Ivy?"

Pamela finally lost all consciousness again. This was too much to take in.


	28. Chapter 28

Pamela was only vaguely aware of the transportation of her body. When she awoke from unconsciousness the first time, she saw only the darkening sky and felt the bumpity bumps of someone carrying her… She slipped out quickly enough.

The second time she awoke, she was lying on leather seating, and the bumpity bumps were from potholes in the road that struck whatever car she had been placed into…

The third and final time was much calmer. Her eyes slowly brought back the waking world to her. She recognized at once the electronic beeps and chemical hisses that regularly accompanied the lab of Jason Woodrue. This time, she found, she was the one in the bed, IV's hooked into her limbs, pumping anesthetics and other medicines of Woodrue's making into her system. Aliisa was sitting nearby, still dressed in that strange, plantey attire of hers… She noticed Pamela coming around, and pushed her chair forward, her eyes filled with concern.

"Ivy," she whispered. Her hand was on Pamela's at once. Pamela groaned. Her head throbbed, a mental anguish rather than a physical one.

"Alissa…" she managed to breathe out. She managed to blink slowly, her lids heavy. Alissa squeezed her hand, and smiled sadly.

"You're gonna be fine," she told Pamela comfortingly. "I swear it, Ivy. You're going to be just fine."

"Where…where did you come from?" Pamela strained to move, but she was still far too weak. She turned, slowly, to her side, and stared up at Alissa in awe. "You came from the sky…"

Alissa nodded. "I did. For you, Ivy. I'm so sorry I was not there earlier than I ended up being. If only I could have stopped him…"

"How…did you find…us?" Her head spun. She felt sick. But she needed to know. "You…you found us…you jumped out of a tree…"

Alissa nodded again. "Woodrue awoke me from my slumber, Ivy. He awoke me, he said, earlier than he had intended… He said that you had not responded to his calls, that you had not reported in. And then, he told me that the plants had told him that you were being held hostage in the woods."

Pamela blinked. What? Frowning, and struggling for more strength, she managed, "The plants told him…?"

"Yes. He said the plants had told him that a man had taken you into the woods and was hurting you. He ordered me to come and find you. I understood everything he asked of me. He… he told me I was ready enough."

"Ready enough?"

"To move out. To deliver action. He said the process was complete, that I was in a fit state again. Naturally, you're all I could think about when I awoke. You are my mistress, Ivy. My empress. I live to serve you." She bowed her head, to a very shocked and awed Pamela.

"M-mistress?"

"Yes. Woodrue told me that my purpose was to serve you. That I _must _serve you, and Ivy, I intend to do just that!"

"Listen to yours-self," Pamela struggled weakly. "What d-did he do t-t-to you…?"

Alissa beamed. "Perfected me, he said… I feel stronger than ever. I feel faster and greater than ever before. I feel alive and…perfect." She shrugged. "I am better than a human now, Ivy! That's what he said!"

_That's what he said, eh? _

"He woke me from the most wonderful sleep," Alissa reminisced. "He woke me up and gave me my mission. To find you. To save you. But… I found you too late, and I saved you too late." She was gripping the blankets of Pamela's bed fiercely. "By the time Woodrue told me where you were, that bastard had already… had already…" She slammed a fist against the bedside rail. "For crying out loud! What the hell was the bastard doing!? WHAT THE HELL DID HE THINK HE WAS DOING!?"

"Calm yourself." Woodrue had appeared at the doorway, carrying with him a tray and three black bottles, along with a syringe. He was dressed in a filthy white smock, stained green and black in several spots. His hair was crazed, and he was very pale. He walked over to the pair of them and set the tray down beside the bed, gazing at Pamela with firm eyes. "You're awake. I was hoping it would not take so long after the medicine kicked in. Head?"

"Better," Pamela returned weakly, so happy to see Jason Woodrue again. She reached out a shaking hand for him, and he took it in his heavily gloved one.

"Alissa has demonstrated the success of my assimilation procedures," he told her briskly, nodding at Alissa affectionately. "She will keep you safe and tended to as you recover."

"What…did you do to her…?"

"Removed imperfections, and bad dreams. That's all I'll say for now. We can discuss the science of it later, Ivy. For now, I need to give you this." He picked up the syringe from the tray, and stuck it into one of the bottles, filling the thing with black liquid. "A powerful restorative, courtesy of a close friend of mine. He sends you his wishes and regards."

"Who?"

"Never you mind. What matters is that this will help. Hold still."

Fortunately, the anesthetics being pumped into her nullified the feel of the needle, and it passed through her without the slightest indication of pain. She felt a sudden rush of energy course through her, felt tensions breaking apart and energy flowing back. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, flourished by the effects of this black medicine.

"So much better…" She tried to smile, but found this impossible. Memories were flooding back to her now that her strength was returning. She turned over on her side, pulling the covers protectively around her. "Alissa must have told you what he did…"

"In detail," Woodrue replied quietly. "And she has informed me of the young man's demise."

"It went too quickly," Alissa whispered, her eyes closed in anger, her knees pulled up and her chin resting upon them. "He should have died slowly… and far more painfully…"

Pamela loved her.

"Too true. But Ivy, Alissa-"

"Toxica."

"Toxica?" He looked amused. "A name you chose?"

"A name that will define my work," Alissa whispered quietly. "Our work. The work that me and Ivy will do together."

Woodrue nodded. "Fitting. Alright, then. Toxica… Alissa did a very good job of leaving the man mostly intact. I've had him collected."

Pamela spun around, looking up excitedly. "You have him?" she whispered.

"He's quite deceased… but his body is fresh. I've had him placed in stasis. I've already dissected him." He gestured at his stained smock. "The boy was large and filled with fine muscle. With a little effort, he could be a basis for a new experimentation. Transmutation post mortem."

"No!" Pamela cried out, her eyes widening at once. Alissa jumped at her exclamation. "No. Don't do that, not to him!"

"And why should I not? After what he did to you, he deserves nothing less than to-"

"Give him to me," Pamela demanded slowly and firmly. "Give him to me. I want him."

Woodrue frowned. "You…want him?"

"Yes. For my collection…" She bit her lips, not meeting his gaze. "Archie's still frozen…at least what's left of him. I want Donovan too… I was thinking once I got a much more private place, I would build a shrine…" She laid back and gazed at the ceiling lovingly. "Display them… all three, once I get Otto… the men who changed my life." Her expression was fierce. "I have rights to Donovan Ventimago…"

Woodrue's expression was caught somewhere between disgust and amusement. He looked as if he were unsure of how to feel about this exactly. Alissa, however, puffed out and said coldly, "You heard her… give her what she wants."

"Watch your tone, child," Woodrue warned, giving her a dark look. Alissa was on her feet at once, standing up to the man and concentrating furiously upon him.

"Give-her-what-she-wants." The air went cold. Pamela stared at Alissa in amazement. This was the same fiery woman she had known before… but that fire had been amplified. Woodrue smiled.

"Alright, Pamela: you may have him." He turned around. "I will return with another dosage in two hours, just to make sure the stuff works."

"Aren't you going to stay with me?" Pamela demanded to know. "After what just-"

"I am not a coddler," Woodrue said shortly. "And I most certainly not a sympathizer. You should have been more careful."

Pamela and Alissa stared at the back of the man venomously. "_What_!?" Alissa demanded.

Woodrue did not look around, but merely kept standing with his back to them. "You were reckless, Ivy. You were rash and childish. You abandoned your mission, your priorities, and allowed yourself to be put in a very vulnerable, almost permanent position… and do you know what?" He looked around at her. "Had I not been searching for you through the correct kind of means, you may never have been discovered."

"How _did_ you find me!?" asked Pamela coldly. "Alissa said-"

"I have a connection," he cut in. "A powerful connection with powerful friends on the other end of that connection."

"Spies? I was followed? Is that what Alissa meant by saying the plants told you? Is that what they are called?"

Woodrue smirked. "Yes. Spies is as good as any word… and they certainly are called plants, because that is the basic name for what they are." He turned back to face them now. "The plants speak with me, and I with them. We are connected. A family."

"How!?" Pamela felt her heart expanding considerably. "How can you do that?"

"Time. Time and commitment. Why? Do you desire this gift?"

"That's the stupidest thing I have ever been asked."

"You're obsessed with plants, Pamela—you do not share my love for them."

Pamela hissed, lurching out at the empty air with a clawed hand. "_Don't call me that! _And my love for Mother Earth's gifts goes _beyond_ anything you could imagine, Jason!"

Woodrue shook his head. "Obsession and love are far beyond measure. You have proven this tonight with your recklessness. You endangered the mission and the preservation of Eden. Without you, my research gets _delayed_! How then will we reach our end goals!?" He turned fully on her and marched up to the bed. Alissa shifted on instinct, standing up, but Woodrue held a hand before her face, shaking his head. "Your recklessness is a danger to Mother Earth and her _gifts_, Pamela Isley. I will call you nothing less until you realize this. You fail to understand this—from the moment we entwined on our grand quest, you submitted yourself to my evaluations and my disciplines." His hand shot out, and suddenly Pamela was being yanked forward by the shirt, their noses colliding. Alissa made an odd sort of noise, something like a growl, but Woodrue ignored her. "Make no mistake, Pamela… I will not hesitate to punish you should you act out of order _again_. I will see to it that you are punished, I swear to it! You will understand this _now_. Confirm it!" Flecks of saliva hit her cheeks. He was so…vicious. And she liked it. She liked the way he handled her, even now… his anger was a bliss. But she feigned this and instead nodded intently, forcing her eyes to stay locked on with his. He released her, and turned around, marching across the chamber haughtily. Alissa stood in front of her now, shielding Pamela.

Before he exited, Woodrue called back, as he went around the door, "I'll expect more subjects by tomorrow evening."

And he was gone. Just like that. Alissa was fuming, still staring at the stop where he had vanished, her eyes savage.

"I would very much like to hurt him," she whispered, rubbing her gloved hands together. "I want to see him in pain…"

Pamela forced herself into a sitting position, crimson and boiling. "In due time… I'm not prepared to let his attitude go, either… but we can't hurt him. Not yet. He's essential, Alissa, for the restoration of the Eden that Mother has given me in my dreams." She climbed out of the bed, yanking out the IV's as she went, feeling the full energy of the medicine within her. "He wants subjects? I'll give him plenty. Will you come with me?"

"Lead and I'll follow," Alissa promised quietly. "Where are we going?"

"A half and half," Pamela said coldly… and her fist went down at once. The medicine jugs attached to the IV's were smashed at once. She grinned with animalistic joy. "I've been too sterile, too easygoing and subtle. And right now, I'm angry. I'm very, very angry!"

"What's a half and half, then?"

Pamela reared back and slammed her foot into a nearby table. Empty beakers shattered all over the floor, toppling over and crashing. Her breathing was intensifying. "A half in half," she said, "is a simple matter of action, Alissa. Namely, a killing spree… and a collection. I'm a serial killer, Alissa, do you forget? One of Gotham's most notorious?" She leaned against the table, hands gripping the edges tightly, her breath shaky. "I want to maim right now. Kill. Poison. I don't care what it is, Alissa, but I want to take this out on innocent bastards and see people in pain! I want to punish people who have nothing to do with this! I want to make myself worthy to burn in the fictional pits of Hell that those fuckers preach about constantly!" She banged her fists up and down, up and down, sending glass shards everywhere, cutting herself (but not noticing) and screaming out in a terrible rage.

Alissa quivered and awed in terrible unison at her friend… and felt only compassion. Nodding, she came up to Pamela from behind and placed a reassuring hand upon Pamela's quivering shoulder, hearing the soft crying coming from the other side of those shoulders. She did not need to see Pamela's tears to know the kind of mental anguish that was being endured there…

"I'll follow you… I promise. You have the right idea. Sometimes the world needs drastic examples. And there are violators in our garden that must be dealt with."

Pamela loved her again. Alissa understood the anguish, understood the anger. She squeezed her friend's hand firmly, nodding too.

"Nice outfit," she chuckled, wiping away the tears. "Where can I get one like it?"

"From Sir Asshole… but I don't think he'll give you one right now. And once he sees the mess you've made in here, he probably won't give you one for a while…" But she was smiling widely. "Doesn't mean we can't get you something better than your birthday suit, here."

Pamela chuckled darkly. "I like the idea of my birthday suit, Alissa. Pretty soon, I won't ever have to worry about the limitations of human law again. Let's find something suitable. We're going out."

And out they went. Worshipers crowded Pamela and Alissa at the circular booth that had been situated in the less noisy, nearly smokeless back parlor of the Fisherman's Highrise. Most of them, brutes and druggies who belonged to the Penguin, giggled madly and acted like fools under the heavy amounts of pheromones that Pamela bathed them in. She was not discriminatory, either, in the homicidal desires that swelled within her, needing to be implemented in order to calm her from the way Woodrue had treated her!

And so she killed without bias. She kissed the man on her left, then the one on the right in quick succession, lingering on each for a few seconds, allowing the deadly poison in her lipstick to make home. They both died horribly enough, sitting there in that leather booth beside her, but she did not relent. She reached forward and forcibly grabbed another from across the table, killing him with the same passion and mercilessness she fought hard to embody.

Even as their comrades dropped like flies around the table, the infatuated, hypnotized slaves did not seem to comprehend the situation, and came to her by her command, until the table itself had become a small mountain of corpses, Pamela seemingly ignoring their presence as she absorbed herself in the blasting rock music from the front of the room, beyond the doors of this private parlor, where she had brought her victims to kill in privacy and peace. But…it still seemed to be in vain.

Killing these men brought her absolutely zero satisfaction. There was no sexual stimulation from the act, no joy, no bliss of any accord. Whatever she had been looking for in these murders, she found it not. She did not even know _what_ she was looking for, or why she had even thought to come here and commit to these thugs. Did she hate men like the Penguin, who was foul, beyond disgusting and a constant threat to nature with his small military complexes and weapons manufacturing? Did she just hate people in general? She supposed, but she could find no genuine reason to fulfill her these terrible deeds with such intensity.

So she burned the fucking place down. She kept applying the lipstick again and again until all ten of the slaves she had brought back here lay dead in their mass grave, coldly stepping away, their personal treasures feeling her pockets: credit cards, earrings, cellular phones and cash… and when she had stepped far enough away, the bottle went to join the dead, smashing onto the ground and exploding in a fiery frenzy of orangey red promise. Molotovs had very, very quickly become an interest of Alissa Jagner, who threw an extra one into the backstage of the concert hall. Pamela and Alissa quietly exited out the back door, leaving the club (and its inhabitants) to burn. Who knew how many would escape? Mesmerized bouncers guarded the doors with guns (courtesy of the two merry murderesses), and Pamela's orders had been to fire upon anyone attempting to flee… and then, once there was no one left, she had made sure to give them the most important command: "Shoot yourself in the head. Then, I will come to you, and I will belong to you forever. Do this… and I am yours."

It was funny, the things her weapons could do. Control over a machine gun was nothing compared to the power one could have over the very mind itself.

Three drunken, homeless humans in the back alley.

"Kill," Pamela commanded.

Alissa was on the dazed, slumbering men at once, leaping upon the first with an excited squeal, her knife flashing in the dim light of the street lamp. Such a sharp knife, and so much blood to accompany it. She slashed the first man in the throat, and immediately leapt to the second, across the way, sinking the blade up through the man's chin. The third was startled awake by the commotion, but Alissa giggled madly, and she actually cartwheeled towards the hopeless drunk, catching his neck between her chins and twisting in the air. He fell into a crumpled mess, his old body useless against her youthful energy, and she was upon him in an instant, slashing and slashing, stabbing and stabbing…

It was beautiful, to be sure. As Pamela watched Alissa at work, at play, she felt a certain poetic grace rise within her chest and sweep her away into fantasy lands of gain and prosperity. It made her think of many things, such as the future and the possibilities that one's body was merely a temporary prison, awaiting the release of their spirit into an endless void of power.

The two stole away into the night, hand in hand, skipping like children, leaving the bloodied, mutilated bodies to accompany the burning inferno that had become the Penguin's east side club. At length, Pamela and Alissa found a taxi. Alissa got into the seat behind the driver, and with a silent nod from Pamela, slit the woman's throat before she could even ask about their destination. She grasped at the deep gash, blood pouring out of her wound in heavy amounts, and Alissa helped Pamela pull the frail little thing into the backseat, Alissa taking the driver's place at once. Pamela pushed the woman's corpse far against the other window, watching out her own as Alissa drove away into the night.

"Where to?"

Pamela thought about that, staring at her reflection in the well-polished mirror. Alissa had given her a wonderful look for their rowdy outing. Pamela's lips were black and shining (the Nyrox poison naturally applied carefully to the rubber coating), thick green shadowing applied to her eyelids, her hair braided into two long, twisty tails. Her green satin gloves fingered the window as she truly, truly studied herself: tight, dark green corset, long, black tights and dark combat boots… and a silly little, forest green dancer's skirt…

In her personal opinion, she looked everything as beautiful and stupid as she could possibly be. More stupid… but sometimes more beautiful. She truly had never had much of a fashion sense, and now, she was not even sure Alissa did. Of course, Alissa had been an athlete, in her old life. They were both learning. She supposed she liked the way she looked, for now. In fact, in necessary narcissism, she quite fell in love with her reflection, and knew others would too. Pheromones were magic.

"Let's see… Ah, here we are." A man was sitting on a lone street bench, a suitcase sitting near his leg. Alissa pulled onto the side of the road, and Pamela stepped out. The man was at least thirty, only slightly thinning out, and when he saw Pamela, he blushed and looked away at once… but she saddled right up to him and, in a daring move that made her giggle a little on the inside, she actually sat atop him, staring down at his bemused face with a dark sense of satisfaction.

"W-what are you doing?" he stammered, his hair standing on end. Pamela moved her satin hand down his face, ending at his pointy chin, and grinned.

"Whatever the hell I want," she whispered, reaching to her side. She unsheathed the first weapon from her little "holster": a hypodermic needle, filled with Woodrue's special anesthetic, enhanced with extra work from Pamela. She grabbed his chin forcibly, feeling a wicked sense, brief as it was, of the sexual intensity she had suspected she may find on her spree tonight. Something about how terrified he looked up at her brought it out. So there it was, then. That elation. It came from when people showed her _fear_… perhaps because infatuating them was too easy. "Take one last look, love, around… because you're never going to see the world again."

She stabbed him in the neck with the needle tip, and he jerked wildly, throwing her back and away from him… but the needle was still in him, and she had managed one nice squeeze before she went flying. Even as she hit the ground, she was laughing hysterically, her eyes widening with joy as she watched the man flailing about, his limbs shaking wildly as he lost control of his motor functions in a fruitless attempt to extract the syringe. Pamela was on him at once, still laughing maniacally as she forced him against the bench, injecting him fully. The man crumpled almost immediately, staring forward with wide, open eyes… but he was not dead. Oh no. Paralyzed in perfect suspension, his nerves induced into powerful shock. The things that would be done to him were far worse than death.

Alissa helped load the man into the trunk of the taxi, and they were both gone before the scheduled bus arrived, to find the empty suitcase sitting beside the bench.

It did not end there, either. Ten minutes later, a mesmerized, late-night convenience store worker walked out of the store. One eyewitness report would later confirm that a taxi had pulled up to the drive-in window, and that seconds later, the worker had quickly stumbled out of the store, come around, and hopped into the taxi. The taxi had then sped off into the darkness. The man himself was never seen again.

The rounds went on and on, hour by hour, as the sun slowly came to rise in a flourishing Gotham City. Jason Woodrue would later awaken to find no less than thirty men and women stored away inside of his massive containment unit, all drugged and paralyzed, bound and ready to be perfected. On the glass of the large containment center, a single note in Pamela's neat handwriting: **Forgive me now? **

Woodrue did.


	29. Chapter 29

"What is it?" was the question she asked Woodrue, but damn it seemed like such a simple, insignificant question for its majesty. She wished, in that moment, she would have instead asked, in a more intelligent manner, "What shall it bring me?"

"Poison Ivy's true birth," was his reply.

They were standing in his private den, a rather large, well ventilated room that looked fine enough for anyone who wishes to spend a peaceful evening lounging on leather sofas next to a massive, wall sized television and a cobblestone fireplace, tall shelves filled with books behind the armchair. These things, this setting, made the device itself an oddity. Something like this belonged in a laboratory, not a private den. Perhaps Woodrue _was_ a little mad…

The rectangular glass enclosure was five feet in width and ten in height, with a single chair, padded and black, in the middle. The chair was hooked up to transparent tubes, which extended through a ventilation system in the glass's wall and fed into a large generator and terminal outside of the thing. Built into the thing's "ceiling" was a circular object with empty hypodermics. In all respect and truth, it looked like something that _did_ belong in a mad scientist's lair: it looked like an execution chamber, the kind that criminals were strapped inside of to be gassed or given lethal injection.

"This," Woodrue said, "is the pinnacle of my research. The subjects you brought me, my work with them, their ascensions… a lower form of my genius. _This_, however… the highlight of my work."

"What shall it bring me, then?" Pamela correctly said this time.

"Poison Ivy's true birth," he repeated. "Until this point, you have lacked the necessary qualities, Ivy. Control and discipline, inauguration to the Mother's impression… I can fix this. You proved to me that you are capable of turning your misdeeds into legend, Ivy." He took her hand in his, and gazed into her eyes. "I will craft you into eternity. I will give you the gift of nature itself."

"W-what will you do?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"This machine," he said, "will inject a special mutagen into your DNA structure. The mutagen is of my own design… and I myself bear its power in small doses. For me, the reasons why my control with it are…limited… are my own. That does not matter… what matters is that _now_ there is a suitable host to the mutagen: you. This machine will prepare your body for accepting the mutagen, and perfect you."

"Perfect…me…?"

"Yes. When you have been perfected, nature will answer your call, Ivy. The plants will be yours to control, yours to manipulate and transform for your purposes. They will serve you as a goddess. You will hear their voices… and they will speak such words to you. And furthermore… the mutagen is special. It will give you more power than just that! The antibodies within the mutagen have been designed to adapt to a human system. They are very powerful, and have been tested on hundreds of different poisons and diseases. I began with animals… humans came in time, thanks to your efforts. The mutagen will give you the most powerful kind of immunity, Pamela. This is your future." He held his hand out to the machine. "It's time to shed your past. It's time, instead, to grow into your future."

Pamela collapsed at his feet. Her very chest pained with how hard she was breathing. Tears were filling her eyes. "You're being serious, aren't you?" she whispered.

Woodrue nodded. "You've worked beyond your limit to accomplish this, Ivy. The future needs you… and so do I. I need someone to follow, someone to acknowledge as the superior one. Someone who can go beyond, and do what I am too cowardly to do. What I am unable to do… because my body will never allow it."

"But why not!?" Pamela asked desperately, pulling him down to her and grabbing his face intently. "You and me, _together_, ruling over a kingdom of plants, basking in the poisons as they eradicate all human life on the _earth_! You deserve it if you're the reason I am able to do this!"

"I am unable. My body is incompatible."

"What makes it incompatible? We can fix it, together."

Woodrue smiled sadly. "Perhaps, someday. But my body will have to go through a long series of wonders before we get to that point. I have a sickness, Pamela." He said it so casually. "A sickness that impedes me."

Pamela went numb. Her heart panged painfully. "Sickness?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to answer any questions about it. I'm resigned to whatever fate awaits me… but Pamela, I have work to do before I go." She did not even seen to notice him calling her by the name "Pamela." This was good, for him: he liked "Pamela" much more than "Ivy." It was a much more beautiful name. "It's why I've been…out of it… I've been angry, and I've been out of control. I should have not have snapped at you, that night. I apologize for it." He chuckled sadly. "Listen to me, apologizing. Pampadora told me to never apologize to anyone for anything. She said that everything spoken from the mouth of my eyes stood correct."

"She was a wise woman," Pamela whispered, stroking his chin with her slender finger. She loved him. That much was evident to her in that moment. "Do you think… she would have liked me?"

"She would have loved you," lied Woodrue, smiling a private smile to himself. "She would have seen you as the ideal successor. And you would not have made the mistakes she made."

"What…mistakes did she make?"

Woodrue sighed now, his eyes wetting. He stood up and went to sit at his chair, and motioned for Pamela to sit in the one across from him. When she did, he folded his leg neatly over the other, clasped his hands together, and said quietly, "Have you ever wondered what happened to Pampadora, Ivy?" When Pamela shook her head, he continued, "She let her love destroy her, that's what. I want to tell you this, too, because you could be endangering yourself. Alissa Jagner is your protector now. I crafted her into something that could keep you safe… even from yourself. That is because the thought of you making the same mistakes that Pampadora did frightens me."

"Tell me."

"Indeed I need to. I told you, of course, that Pampadora was as much my lover, mother, best friend and teacher as she was my sister. She was my existence. My very breath. And I… I was hers. I meant the world to her… but she had a much fiercer love than even me."

"I get scared," said young Jason Woodrue, "when you go out…there…"

He watched his goddess standing nude, perfectly lined against the screen door, staring off into the wide field of flowers before her. The flower field went on forever, a sea of crimson and orange, beautifully crafted with golden stems. Pampadora's Eden was at hand, Jason knew. The air about them was hazy, as he could see the little yellow vapors that they subtly emitted. Pampadora was ready to meet them. Woven in her hair were sunflowers. Their faint green vines entwined her limbs. She was perfection. She turned to look at him, though, in concern.

"Scared, Jason?"

Jason nodded. "Sometimes you stay out there longer than you said you should. Sometimes you forget."

Pampadora smiled. "Jason, love… I would never endanger myself. I'm fine. I'm going to be just…perfect," she sighed, lovingly stroking the sunflower in her golden curls. "I need them, though. I need their touch. I need their comfort."

"Let me touch you. Let me comfort you!" Jason begged. "But don't go out there today."

"I need to, Jason. I need to go out there. They're calling me."

"Calling you?"

"Calling me. I heard their voices in the night, screaming for their mother… screaming for me… I will see to it that they know I am there."

"Let me come with you, then!" he begged her, leaping forward and grabbing her arm. "Let me come with you and I'll pull you out when it's time!"

"You have to be patient," she whispered back, her finger sliding down to the table beside the screen door, on which lay a newspaper. She stared, mesmerized at the newspaper, and smiled, saying, "All good things come to those who wait for the earth's will to be done."

**DEATH TOLL REACHES SIXTY-THREE IN COUNTY**, read the front headline. **MYSTERIOUS DISEASE FESTERING ORGANS STILL BAFFLING EXPERTS. **Local journalists were calling it, "The Golden Plague," due to the yellowed blood found in all of the victims who had fallen to the vastly spreading disease that still had no trace tied to it. Pampadora loved her flower field. It gave the land a spark of vibrant color… it made the winds carry the sweetest, richest scents… it removed the vile human population in the most horrible way imaginable… By the time anyone would have come close to pinning the source of the disease being carried on the wind, the entire town would be eradicated. That was naturally the plan. Her contacts were guarding the stock houses even now, waiting for her call. Once the experiment on this land had concluded, and she had seen for herself that the testing could go off without any issues, her contacts would begin the planting process around the country. Having relations to the Ashford family had its perks, and large numbers of loyals was one of those perks.

_Sixty-three lives. _She felt nothing. Jason felt nothing. Naturally, _he_ felt nothing because _she_ had taught _him_ to feel nothing. Those sixty-three lives had been trespassers, and the only concern that Jason had was for his sister, who would often, obsessively, wander out into the fields where she grew those wonderful flowers, basking in their radiance… sometimes for long periods of time.

Exposure was the key in this disease. Temporary exposure was non-lethal, as the viral properties in the plants required time to assimilate. However, with continued exposure, coupled with the high winds of their area, the virus would eventually grow stronger and take its effect, poisoning its victims slowly from the inside, degrading their organs and causing clots. And the way that Pampadora would expose herself to these things… it scared him.

She stepped out in the yard, beginning her journey towards the fields…

"Did she…die from the virus?" Pamela breathed, her skin numb.

Woodrue's head lowered ever so slightly. "Pampadora loved her flowers. She was obsessed with them. Flowers were her world. Her dream… her beautiful, age-long dream, was to eradicate the human species and fill the earth will trillions upon trillions of the most beautiful flowers imaginable. She had the genius to pull it off, too. Our family connection to the Ashfords put us in good contact with powerful names. The Anderson Foundation… the Umbrella Corporation… Kazech International… Naturally, Umbrella was our direct contact, what with our cousin family acting as one of its founding groups. But none of them saw Pampadora's vision. They were far too concerned with the mediocre venture of biological warfare and martial profit. Pharmaceuticals… It pained Pampadora to see her vision so easily dismissed as "a lunatic's folly." She could not stand for it. She began her war on humanity in the most appropriate of ways. Sixty-three lives within a matter of months… her virus was special. So special, in fact, that Umbrella eventually did come calling… but by the time they did, I had already left. As had… Pampadora, in a way."

"What happened?" Pamela asked. "Where did she go?"

Woodrue smiled. "Where _didn't_ she go… once I took on her mission as my own?"

"PAMPADORA! _PAMPADORA_!" Jason screamed, tripping over his feet several times as he crashed through the flower field, tearing the golden children away as he fought to reach her. He had watched her for more than two hours from the porch, half mesmerized by how perfect she was, half concerned for her exposure… and then, as she lay across them, basking and pulling them close to her, lost in her own passionate love for them… she had collapsed. She had collapsed into a still, still form…

He had seen her stop moving. He had seen her falter. When he reached her, crying out her name, he collapsed beside her. She was not moving. She was not breathing. Her eyes was closed, and her skin had grayed in tone. Her veins had turned an odd, sickly orange…

Oh how he remembered crying over her unmoving body… how he remembered screaming the goddess's name into an oblivion from which he knew she could not hear, possibly never would hear again…

"Oh, Mother…" Pamela gasped, tears filling her eyes as she held her hands to her quivering mouth. Woodrue nodded, staring off into space.

"She did not awaken from her slumber. A coma…"

"C-coma…?"

"A coma from which recovery was impossible, I found. I believe the experiments she performed upon herself spared her from the death she had brought upon so many others… but those experiments still did not save her from consequence."

Pamela went cold now. At once, her mind went back to her lab at home… to the metal casket beneath her work bench. Inside that casket… _Funny… funny how I've been working on the same thing… _

"An immunity to toxins and viruses," she whispered aloud, blinking. "Reaching a goal like that is difficult and dangerous."

"The coma," Woodrue said, "is permanent and will remain so. Despite all of my efforts, I've been unable to find the source to repair her body. It's been… so long… I wonder if she would even be able to function. I've kept her alive, so barely. There have been so many points where I wanted to end her. But I have never been able to bring myself to it."

"She's…alive…?" Pamela swallowed. "Where is she?"

"Safe," was his only answer, for the moment. He stared off into the empty fireplace, shaking his head and sighing. "She's safe. She's with friends. And one day, she won't be. I will build for her the Eden she so passionately desired, and she will never see it."

"She will see it." Pamela said it so quietly and so firmly that she actually felt her body shake at the force behind those words. Woodrue considered her.

"Is that right?"

"She will see it. I promise you she will see it. Why were you drawn to me, if not for this purpose? If not for this mission? Ask me the things that I can do, the things that I am capable of doing long-term and short-term." She stood above him, looking down at him with a dark smile. "This is my calling." She turned to face Woodrue's machine. "This machine is my future!" She grinned twistedly and collapsed against it, embracing it with love, her fingers smudging across the glass with tenderness. "Turn me into what I always have bee… a plant. A flower. A flower to be loved by Pampadora because of the _change_ it will bring to this pathetic world." She glanced down at a newspaper nearby, lying on a table near the chair in which he sat.

**DEATHS FROM MYSTERIOUS POISONER INCREASED IN LAST MONTH**, read the headline. **Shocking remains discovered in Sionis industrial factory. **

Naturally the city was becoming more and more aware of her presence. They knew, now, that Poison Ivy existed, and they knew of her work. The bodies she had left behind… the twisted way in which she had created those bodies… and the promise that it held for their future. But if she was going to save the world, she could not be nice and flowery. She had to be a weed, choking out life, detested by the common mockery of justice. She felt love for herself grow in that moment. More love than ever before. Poison Ivy… _Poison_ Ivy… It was a promise. And it was this promise that filled her soul with joy that Mother would be, at last, given her demand. Demand for a world _filled_ with flowers! Flowers for Pampadora!

_Holy shit… I was always meant to carry on her work, wasn't I? It's almost as if Pampadora was reborn as me… how else would we be so… so ALIKE!? Ha ha ha! Yes! YES! YES, FUCKING A, YES! I get it now… I get it... the Poison Ivy who lived inside of me for so long, begging me to take a move, COMMANDING me… it was HER! _

She did not voice this aloud. She kept this locked away in the privacy that comforted her the most. She knew her mission now. As Woodrue continued to study the effects of his toxins and mutagens on the subjects she had acquired, she herself would return home and perfect her own little assignment. The antigens would benefit well from Woodrue's resources… just as his work has benefited from _her_ help. Together, they were working towards their great goals, and success at the end of it all. Gotham was a city of miracles.

_A city that will witness the uprising before all others. If only Pampadora could be there… but I suppose she WILL be, won't she? _She touched her breast, as if trying to touch Pampadora, locked away inside. Yes, Pampadora was in there. She was living, breathing _Thereness_.

Woodrue, content in his smile, stood and left the room silently, leaving her to her thoughts. Pamela now understood the purpose of him telling her everything. Pampadora's love had put the woman into a position that hindered the work of Mother. Pamela understood it all now. She was to learn from Pampadora's mistake, and not allow her own passions to stand in the way of what had to be done. Passion had to come later. It was something that Pampadora had not realized. Her love for Mother Earth had not been too much, of course. There was no such thing. But the _method_ in which she had showed her love… that had to be improved upon in the form of Pamela Isley… in the form of Poison Ivy.

And naturally, as she thought of all these things, the _distractions_ came! Oh how she loathed them, oh how they swarmed her!

Otto Rock and his trafficking sin… she had such marvelous fantasies about all of that.

Building a secret shrine to honor her lovers, Archibald and Donovan. Otto needed to join them, of course, to complete her collection.

Dr. Stefan Mamiste had left her several messages. It had taken him a few weeks, but once the full effects of the pheromones had worn off, the man had begun to question as to how he had signed Pamela's release forms from the watchful eyes of Coreman's Ridge… There would come a time when Pamela would murder him. His death would be for nothing less than just…something she had to do.

Yvonne Killinger… the only human she had _slightly_ approved of during her time at Coreman's… That woman had to die soon, too. She was a part of Pamela's past, and a positive element that made Pamela feel almost _human_. She had to rid herself of that connection. With Yvonne's death, Pamela could cast off human relations. Alissa was no longer human. No. Not at all, not in Pamela's eyes… and pretty soon that would be even _more_ evident. But Yvonne and Mamiste… their deaths were required to make Pamela feel free of her human bonds.

Naturally there were _many_ missions that she must undertake. But she must not allow her passions to distract her, lest she endured the fate that Pampadora had brought upon herself. She moved forward from this room of illumination and went out into the rest of the world, feeling elation at knowing that Pampadora's spirit was alive inside of her. She leapt across voids of doubt and into a world of assurance.


	30. Chapter 30

When Alissa Jagner committed her very first murder, she described the sensation to herself as "cold." Literally, the air had turned cold in that moment. But the odd thing was that it had not been a _real_ murder. Putting down Donovan Ventimago had been an act of heroism on her part, liberating Pamela from her nightmare. His death had not been a murder: it had been an act of self-defense. _Murder_ involved a victim, and an unprovoking one at that. Donovan had provoked… but he had most certainly been a victim.

This interior journey, discovering these truths, held much ground to be explored. The hobos in the street? _They_ had also been victims… but again, they were also moochers on the system, public drunks, vagrants who had most likely done their fair share of rape and dealing, not to mention theft. The taxi driver, on the other hand…

Slitting the woman's throat had been transformation. Her hand had been shaking as she performed the terrible deed… terrible… No, no, not terrible. She had to punch herself in the forehead. _Not_ terrible! Stop thinking like an idiot. That was what she wanted to tell herself… but it could not be. It had been terrible because, then, she had had no concept of such an evil act. Without the concept, she lacked appreciation. Without appreciation, she lacked bravery.

_I need to experiment. _A test in psychology, her old life's remnants clinging on as hard as they could. She shivered at the thought… and at the wind. Halloween was approaching. It would be here very soon. It was a time of transformation into ghouls and other forms of illusion. Thus, the test in psychology fit well.

Alissa swung and swung upon the playground swing for half an hour more, thinking about how far she had gone. She observed her attire closely. Green and black tartan… satin ribbon bodice… a skirt of frilly, layered green mesh… These cloths weren't something familiar yet. She needed more to feel like the goddess that both Woodrue and Pamela were trying to create out of her. Her leather boots brushed the sand beneath her slowly, kicking dirt up every now and then, and she sometimes kicked it hard enough so that it would flew upward and land upon her. She wanted to know how closely she cared for dirt, for soil…

Part of her resented it. Part of her yearned to love it. She was… a servant of Poison Ivy. A servant of Pamela. She had to love dirt… she had to love the earth in all of its richness. Sighing, she hung her head and smiled sadly. Perhaps this was the way to go about it, in small doses. She put a finger to her lips.

The neon green lipstick was something else she found… almost intriguing. Woodrue and Pamela had specially prepared it for use at any given time, experimenting with new weapons by the day. This lipstick was one of those special weapons, and had quickly become Pamela's favorite method of killing. A poisonous kiss. What a way to kill someone… what a dark, unfair, traitorous method.

A teenager clambered across the dirt and sat down in the swing next to her. She analyzed the ogling boy who was looking at her with a smirk and narrowed eyes. Muscular, football material with a slightly shaven head and hairy chin. Large, staring blue eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, smiling a false smile. "You sitting over here all by yourself?"

"No…" Alissa answered quietly, putting her hands in her lap and staring at her feet. "I have friends all around me. Don't you see them?"

The teenager chuckled. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Stupid question, I know. What I really meant was, are you wanting to sit over here by myself?"

Alissa smiled at him, shrugging. "Don't know. Don't really know what I want… not yet anyway. But I know what I _need_ to be wanting."

"What's that?"

Alissa shrugged again, leaning in very close to the teen. His eyes widened excitedly.

"Who knows?" she breathed into his face, and she moved her head forward for only a second, planting a small kiss on his lips. "You tell me."

She waited. The teenager, who could not have been more than fifteen, grinned widely, chuckling softly. "Wow, you're really direct, aren't you-" And then his smile faded. It turned to horror at once, his teeth gritted, his eyes widened, and he suddenly clutched his throat. Alissa nodded sadly, turning away and staring forward again, saying quietly, "I guess so… but I need to know more things than just that. It's really hard for me to figure it out right now."

Beside her, his heavy body went limp and he fell dead, face forward into the sand. She glanced at his corpse sadly, nudging him with the toe of her boot. His body was jerking in death, spasms that she had witnessed during Pamela's own murders. Her mind reeled with acute observation on her mental state.

_I feel…nothing. Sadness, but not for the act itself. It's something deeper. Something like… boredom? Is it boredom? _She decided to leave the swings, leave him. She walked slowly up the darkening pathway as the sun slipped into its sleep for the night. She did not rob the boy's body. She left him be. He had gone through enough. _No, it can't be boredom. How could it be? No, it's something else. Maybe… maybe confusion. _

That seemed more accurate. Confusion. Woodrue had perfected her. Perfection. That had been his term. But _how_ had he perfected her? She had vague memories of her past. Vague memories of everything that had once happened. Who had she been? Alissa… Alissa Jagner… but who had Alissa Jagner _been_?

She saw two more people, standing near some tall oaks. One was a girl, the other a boy, and they seemed to be about the other boy's age. Friday night was a night for teen outings, it seemed. But these teens were smoking, puffing our noxious fumes, and they casually tossed the cigarette butts into the grass. Now when she saw that, she angered. The anger, she knew, came from Pamela and Woodrue's perfections. Any desecration of nature angered her… but why _was_ this perfection? Because Pamela and Woodrue willed it?

She walked up to the two teens, one a brunette boy, the other a dark haired girl. They both looked around as she approached, and Alissa's cold face showed only contempt for them. She waved a single hand.

"Evening," she muttered.

"Evening…" the girl replied, trying to stuff the cigarette out of view of the clearly older woman in her twenties who stood before her and her boyfriend. Alissa said no more. Instead, she stepped forward and violently grabbed the boy by the cheeks. She forced a kiss onto him, making the girl screech out loud, "What the hell!?", but Alissa released the boy, pushing him aside, and grabbed the girl, planting her third kiss for the night upon the girl's luscious lips. Her fingernails clawed into the girl's cheeks.

The girl pushed her away, backing against the tree, looking furious. She was about to open her mouth and say something before her boyfriend choked, clutching at his throat and falling to his knees. Almost on cue, the girl had no time to register what was happening before the poison hit her too, and she collapsed as well. Alissa left them, again, sadly, her head hung, to die their horrible deaths in the privacy of the trees. She crushed their cigarettes under foot as she went.

_Does it really get easier? It seems to. But… but there has to be a purpose. A mission. It's all about the mission, all about- about the _reward_. But what _is_ the reward? _

Pamela would tell her that the reward was Mother Earth's love, and she was inclined to believe it… but at the same time, the perfection were still, well, perfecting.

She checked herself in a bathroom mirror. Most of the lipstick had brushed off of her, revealing the gleaming rubber covering she had been given to protect herself from the lethal poison. She washed her face in the sink, sighing, her heart hurting as she rid herself of the toxin for one night. Killing those teenagers had brought her no joy whatsoever. If anything, the murdering had brought her only more sadness. But why? Why must she suffer, in doing Pamela's work, when Pamela herself found bliss in the act? What did Pamela have that Alissa… that Toxica… did not?

Toxica. A christening that she must remind herself of constantly. Toxcia had been the name she had established during her second birth. Woodrue had given it his blessing. Toxica. A toxic woman. A living toxin. This was to be her mission. She was to act as Pamela's protector, Pamela's assassin… Pamela's other half. She had to be Pamela's arm, shield and temple. And in turn, she would be the arm, shield and temple of Mother Earth.

But she could not feel Mother Earth. Mother Earth did not exist to her… yet. But she would happily keep up the illusion in front of Pamela and Woodrue that she did in fact bear a connection to the goddess of the planet… and in turn, would she be able to _become_ one? The rational part of herself told her, "No!" This rational side bore fruit in its garden. Despite her constant objections to service invitations and her public stance that she had no belief in God… she had always believed, to some point. No rational side of her could look upon the earth before her and truly believe that there was not intelligent design involved. Humans and the planet were all built into perfect rhythms, with everything just right for survival situations. Everything in life was too deliberate, too grand scale. There was no way that they had come from particles of nothing…

But that was the part, she felt, that brought her down. It was why she was unable to obtain the same bliss that Pamela embodied. She, Alissa…Toxica… believed in a higher power, a true God, who looked down upon them, encouraging His children to overcome their sins. She, Toxica, had become sin itself in her transformation. Because of this, she felt the fires of punishment awaiting her at the end of the dark tunnel, and no amount of Woodrue's perfections could steer her mind away from that fire. Not yet, anyway. She needed something. She needed to wipe God Himself from her heart and from her mind. In removing Him, in removing her _fear_ of Him, she could embody the sin that her soul so desperately craved to become. She yearned for the demon, and yearned to reject the traces of good within her, or what she _perceived_ to be good…

So she would become sin and destroy God's influence in her life. She would renounce the deity that she had always believed in, yet had always rejected publicly anyway.

_I will burn… I will burn… _

Forever.

Walking down Barker Road, the street desolate save for a crackhead wandering into a dark alley, his hands fumbling with the cash he held, Alissa wandered into one of the yards. The window before her was wide open and uncovered by curtains. Inside, a family sat before a large television, an animated film flashing away on the screen, a popcorn bowl shared between two young children, a redheaded, plump wife and her balding, dark-skinned husband. Alissa let her darkened soul guide her every move. She leaned forward against the window, staring inward at the family… and all too soon, they were staring right back. The wife noticed her first, and, with a deep frown, nudged her husband in the ribs, pointing.

Alissa cared not for their wide-eyed expressions. She hung her head, the depression deepening, and her hands slid down the pane. Her heart hurt. The tears slowly fell.

The husband was moving around the couch, and he opened the door, sticking his head out and peering around the corner at her. Alissa showed no sign of being aware of this.

"Can we help you with something?" he called to her, looking rather annoyed, but also concerned.

Alissa slowly regarded him with a tilt of the head, staring back at him with her reddening eyes. _God how the depression cascaded down upon her. _

"Help me…with something…?" she breathed, her head still hanging low. It was now physically a burden upon her.

"Why are you staring into our window?" His voice had become softer, more gentle, more filled with concern than irritation. She shrugged slowly, biting her now unpoisoned lips.

"I wish I knew," she replied softly, her lip quivering. She gritted her teeth. She was going to cry, and she did not want to! "I… I r-really wish I knew…"

She cried. She collapsed to her knees and began to bawl into the man's flowerbeds. Now the husband was looking _very_ concerned, but she hardly noticed this. The pain in her heart was too much to bear. She could not remember her mother's face. Her father, either. Did she have siblings? Had she even known her real parents? There was nothing there, no memory to come and comfort her… so the man did it for her. He was crouching down beside her, the wife and children staring out the window at the scene, and he placed a hand upon her shoulder.

"What's going on, lady?"

Alissa instinctively grabbed his hand, still fighting back her sobs. "I'm so scared… I'm so scared…"

The man paled. "My God… did someone… did someone do something to you?"

Alissa shivered. She thought about the question for a moment… and then nodded her head. It was the truth. "Y-yes… Oh, God, yes…" Her hand slipped and it hit the dirt. The man looked up at his wife, frowning, and then he was helping Alissa to her feet, half carrying her into the house with him. The wife and children stared as he led Alissa to the kitchen and sat her at a round, mahogany table. The wife quickly shut the curtains at the window, and then ran forward, looking very troubled, whispering for the children to stay back. She had paused their animated film.

"What's going on?" the wife whispered to her husband. He shook his head.

"I don't know. Miss…? Can you tell us your name?"

Alissa laid her head across the table, staring at the children in the distance. Both of them stared back with beaming eyes of fear and curiosity. "Alissa."

"Alissa… And a surname?"

"Isley." She said the first name that came to mind, and knew not _why_ she had said it. It just came so naturally.

"Okay, Alissa Isley… do you want to tell us what's happened. I bet we can help." He sat down opposite her, his eyes intent with a fierce concentration. "My name's Doug. Doug Alvarez. This is Lola." He gestured to his wife. "My kids are Nate and Patricia."

"Doug," Alissa whispered. "Lola. Nate. Patricia."

Doug nodded, biting his lip. Lola looked very nervous. Alissa could tell that she scared the lady something silly.

"So, Alissa… do we need to call the police for you?"

"I know how to use a telephone," Alissa replied. "Ask yourself if calling them would do me any good…" She spoke the words that came to her as well.

"How so?"

"I'm just a troublemaker," Alissa sighed, wiping her tears away. "A sinner. I don't even know if there's a God who wants me to see justice or not. Not with… not with these things following me…"

Doug and Lola exchanged looks. They had no idea what this woman was talking about… but it was clear to them that this woman needed help. The look on Doug's face said _Drugs_. The look on Lola's said _Alcohol_. Whatever the source of this blonde woman's oddness, they wanted the matter resolved quickly.

"Did someone…hurt you?" Lola suggested.

"You could say that," Alissa whispered, sitting up and staring up at her. Her hair was almost as crimson as Pamela's. This brought a little comfort to her… and a little fear. Lola did not have Pamela's beautiful green eyes. Hers were a boring brown. The color of dirt… and so, she supposed, Pamela would have her appreciate Lola's eyes for this reason. "Someone did hurt me… and then I hurt them back."

Lola instinctively stepped away. She backed into an owl clock, frowning. Doug looked sympathetic.

"What did they do?"

"Perfected me," Alissa answered, as if this were the understandable thing to reply with. Neither Doug nor Lola looked as if they _did_. But why should they? They were not seeing things with perfected eyes. This was good. It saved them from pain. "I was perfected by my friends and turned into something great. A warrior for their cause." When Doug and Lola still continued to stare in confusion, Alissa sighed. "I suppose it just…can't be explained."

"Well, actually, Alissa… I'm a psychologist." Doug tried to smile kindly. "So it might if you-"

"A psychologist…?" Her heart hammered. There, again, another trace of her past. The past life, the past eyes, and the past breath. The past that was Alissa, not Toxica. Psychologist indeed. Her test in psychology had begun. How would she react, and what methods of closure would she seek? "What a coincidence… I once went to college for the same thing."

Doug tilted his head. "You finished?"

Alissa smiled. Her tears had faded… her anger had returned.

"In my old life, before I was perfected, I would have finished… but my friends took such desires away from me, and filled me with new ones."

"New desires?" Doug whispered. Lola was looking more and more troubled by the second. Alissa nodded.

"Why, yes," she said calmly, tapping her fingers together gently. "I was to begin my practical observations next year. Providence Center in Downtown Gotham… but then I found that there were far better things to focus my time and energy on. Far more important things."

"Far more important than your education?"

Alissa's heart panged painfully again. There it was.

"Are you judging me?" she demanded.

Doug was shocked. "N-no, not judging you, I-"

"I think you should leave, Miss Isley," Lola said quietly, stepping forward and looking grim. "Please, we don't have time to deal with this, okay."

"Lola-"

"No, Doug," Lola said firmly, shaking her head. "We need to-"

Alissa moved so fast and so…correctly. It was fact. It was like breathing. Her hand were under the table in an instant, and suddenly it was uplifted, crashing into Doug and sending the man falling backwards in his chair. Before Lola could react, Alissa had leapt to her feet and forced the woman against the kitchen counter, that fire burning within her soul once more.

"Mama!"

"Daddy!"

Patricia and Nate were screaming from the living room, edging forward fearfully.

"Let go of me!" Lola cried. Alissa, however, was reaching behind Lola, where a knife block sat on the counter. She pulled out the carver. Her eyes were filled with wild triumph as her soul fought against the depression. Something about Doug mentioning her past had struck something inside. And Alissa now understood!

The past. It was the past that brought her such depression. The past involved her belief in God, her old life as an aspiring psychologist, and the weakness that she had privately associated with it. She now understood. The past had to be removed entirely… along with any mention of it.

Lola stared at the knife in Alissa's hard, her lips quivering. Doug was trying to get back on his feet. Alissa, meanwhile, her expression suddenly alight with the same joy she had displayed when murdering the men in the alleyway the other night, laughed aloud in mad triumph and sunk the blade into Lola's throat.

The woman's eyes went wide, and she grasped at the knife in disbelief, falling to her knees as the blood began to pour. Alissa watched her go down with what she would have labeled her "evil smile," before Doug saw what was happening and screamed.

Alissa was on him at once. She leapt across the kitchen and dove into him, bringing him down onto the floor, and still she laughed and laughed. Nate and Patricia, meanwhile, were screaming, collapsing beside their mother, who was in shock, attempting to pull the knife out of her neck.

Alissa and Doug struggled upon the floor in a tangles mess of limbs and flying golden hair, but Alissa kept laughing and laughing.

_Fight the depression! Fight the depression! _

Her hands found the sides of his head, and she lowered her head, clamping down fiercely upon his lips with her teeth. Doug's screams went off like a siren as he tried to throw her off of him, but she was filled to the brim with adrenaline and held on for dear life with such a deathly grasp. His blood poured into her mouth, and she retched, throwing her body backwards into a roll. She situated herself with cat-like grace at the end of that roll, spinning about, ignoring Doug's cries as he tried to fight through his own shock. Alissa, meanwhile, was staring at the two children, who stood before their mother protectively, staring at Alissa in terror.

_Fight the depression! Kill the depression! _

"What are you staring at?" whispered Alissa. "Do you see something you fear?"

"M-mama," little Patricia breathed. Despite her massive bleeding wound and bloodied hands, Lola fought hard to pull her children behind her… but Alissa leapt upon them. She scooped up the knife that Lola had dropped when she had pulled it out of herself, and with a fierce slashing motion, cut a deep gash across Lola's face. Lola choked out blood. Her children screamed. Doug screamed. But Alissa kept going. She was on her knees, and putting a fierce amount of strength behind the movement, she sunk the blade into Lola's forehead.

Now, at last, the redheaded mother toppled over, the knife impaled in her skull. She was no longer blocking her children, but instead was lying dead in a massive puddle of blood. And her children stared back at their mother's killer, who was saturated in the redness of her most recent victim.

"Do you see," Alissa whispered to the children, "anything that scares you?"

_KILL THE DEPRESSION! KILL THE DEPRESSION! _

"RUN!" Doug cried. He was finally on his feet. Alissa, however, stood up and reached her leg backward. Her fierce kick slammed into little Nate's head, which in turn slammed against the side of the kitchen counter. The boy toppled over at once. Patricia screamed an earsplitting sound and ran for the nearby hall, running for the stairs that awaited her there.

Alissa spun around to confront Doug. The man was bruised and bloodied, but nothing compared to the anguish upon his face as he saw his wife and son.

"Maybe he's still alive," Alissa said softly to him, kicking backwards with her boot and landing a fierce attack upon Nate. "Maybe he survived it…"

Doug let out a fierce bellow and ran forward. He, however, had not noticed Alissa pulling the knife out of Lola's head, and as she approached, the blade flew through the air. The first strike, which stopped Doug altogether, sunk into his own forehead. It was quickly pulled out, and it sailed down again, this time hitting his chest and carving downward. Alissa crouched down with him as he fell to his knees, her expression a happy one. She felt the depression leave her.

"Shhh," she advised him, and she kissed him full upon his bloodied lips as he sunk the knife into his stomach, just as she had to Donovan Ventimago. When she removed her lips from his, Doug's light had been extinguished, and he fell forward, next to his wife. Alissa stood in the center of the fallen, bathed in blood, feeling elation and bliss that she knew must be the same feelings that Pamela herself had experienced. She dropped the knife onto the floor, giggling and giggling and giggling.

After several seconds, she knelt down to check on Nate. He was quite dead. Her fierce strike and the counter had crushed his skull. So Woodrue _had_ given her great strength indeed. She grinned.

"One more bout of depression to handle," she whispered. She followed the shrieking Patricia up the stairs. The little girl tried to barricade herself in the hall closet, but Alissa gently grabbed the little girl's leg as she dove in, dragging her out screaming. Alissa sat down atop the girl, and casually began to strangle the life out of little Patricia Alvarez, overpowering the girl's useless struggles as Alissa, feeling that bliss again, drained all light from the little girl.

When the deed was done, Alissa slowly, calmly, entered one of the nearby rooms. It was the girliest room imaginable. Pink wallpaper with purple hearts, stuffed animals overtaking the place, a Spongebob Squarepants television sitting atop a rainbow colored TV stand and a beautiful ornate bed with the furriest of blankets. Alissa fell upon the soft bed, saturating it in the blood that saturated her, and curled up in the blankets. She found the remote nearby, and in the darkness, switched on the television. It was almost nine. _True Girls_ would soon be on.


	31. Chapter 31

Alissa never remembered the time that she had awoken from her deep slumber. She had been dreaming. In her dream, she had seen many wondrous things: city sized, steel armored crabs and castle sized, spiraling Nazi officers. They waged war and brought down an infinity of flame upon their lands in war like no other. The screams were life in that dream. However, when she did awake, the euphoria of witnessing the beautiful destruction was almost immediately taken away.

Someone was standing in the doorway, silhouetted in the hall light. At first, she simply opened her eyes and found the man standing there, staring back at her, illuminated in the hall. It was the jingling of his keys that had pulled her out of slumber. The officer was scrawny and nervous looking, African American in color, tall in height. He gripped his keys tightly when he saw her blue eyes glinting back at him.

"M-ma'am?"

And suddenly her memories came back to her. She sat up slowly, and the officer saw her saturated in blood. _Now_ he was pulling out his 9mm, his face twisted into dread. The television was still going. She had fallen asleep like an idiot.

"Ma'am," he repeated slowly, "are you responsible for what's happened here?" His voice shook, silent and fearful. Alissa gazed at the floor, not meeting his eyes. She nodded briefly. Now an edge hit his tone. "Out of the bed and approach me slowly with your hands up." The gun was aimed and ready. Alissa complied silently, standing up and slowly approaching him, her mind reeling with a long list of possibilities. The officer held his ground firmly, anger in his eyes. "What is your name?"

"Bitch."

The officer shook his head. "Okay, stand right there."

She complied again, standing perfectly still, halfway across the room. Oh the _blood_ that stained her body and soul in that moment. To him, she probably looked like she had just crawled out of a bathtub filled with tomato sauce. Thick, bloody sauce.

"Alright, Miss Bitch," the officer attempted calmly, but she could tell that she unnerved him. "I'm going to call this in, alright." He kept his aim on her with one hand, and fumbled with his radio. Rookie mistake, Alissa privately observed, but not one she was going to take advantage of. After all, he still had a gun on her. She could wait. She stood there calmly, waiting patiently for him to bring to radio up to his mouth. "Code five, code five, this is Officer Kant. Suspect discovered in upstairs bedroom, claimed responsibility for the murders. Over."

"Roger that," a female voice responded. "What's your twenty? Over."

"Still in the Alvarez home. Bringing suspect in now. She refuses to identify herself. Blonde female. Looks about twenty something, early twenties. Over."

"Affirmative. Beginning file now. And just off the record, Gordon's raging up a storm ever since you called in. Get her out of and get her down to the GCP. He's on his way now and he might killer her. Over."

"Roger. Over." Officer Kant put his radio down and positioned both hands on the gun. Alissa blinked politely.

"Finished?"

"Yes. Now turn around."

Alissa beamed, and obeyed at once, spreading her limbs wide. "Are you going to frisk me?" she whispered.

"I'll leave that for the boys downtown," he muttered, reaching to his side for handcuffs.

"How many of you are there?" she questioned, watching him closely in a mirror that hung on the wall. Watching and waiting…

"Just me. Neighbors heard the screaming. We've had domestic issues here before so we took our time…"

"Shouldn't have done that," Alissa cooed.

The officer's gun lowered a few inches in his attempt to remove the cuffs from his side. That had been what she was waiting for. She moved fast. She leapt upward, slamming down into a belly flop upon the floor, her legs stretching out beneath him. He jerked, but did not move quickly enough. Her foot kicked upward, and the gun went flying out of his grip. She gave him no time to make another move. Twisting her body around, she wrapped her legs around one of his and upended the man. He slammed onto his back, crying out, and Alissa quickly forced herself upward, throwing herself on top of him.

Her fingers went right for his eyes. She dug deep, and Kant screamed. However, she caught his reflexive counterstrike with one hand, and put a heavy amount of force in retaliation with a head butt. The scrawny officer's head hit the floor, and he became dazed. Alissa struck out with her hands once more, and dug again into his sockets. This time, they went right through, and Kant's scream was agonous as he was blinded. Alissa kicked herself away, rolling backwards and sweeping up his fallen pistol as she went. Standing above the writhing, blinded, bloodied man, she wasted no more time. Sirens were singing in the distance.

She fired two shots into the man's head, stilling him at once, and blew his body a kiss goodbye as she leapt over the corpse and into the hall. Little Patricia still lay where Alissa had finished her off. Down the stairs, past the bodies of the other Alvarezes, and Alissa was speeding out into the night. But waiting for her outside was a large group of people.

Alissa froze. No less than twenty neighbors were assembled on the sidewalk, all of them standing around the flashing police cruiser that Kant had left behind. When they saw the bloody, ragged looking blonde woman before them, several screams were let out, cries of anger and shock. Those eyes… all of their eyes… _God, why are they STARING at me like that!? WHY!? _Each pair of eyes were the same: they were the eyes of God Himself, staring at her, judging her to Hell for her crimes…

_NO! _She fought against these fears and fired wildly into the crowd, desperation overtaking her. The screams intensified as the crowd scattered. Two of them dropped, hit by Alissa's untargeted, directionless ammunition. And then she was running, as fast as she could down the street, in the direction of the park. She could see the distant swingset and the teenager that she had murdered there that evening. No one had found those bodies yet!

She sprinted as fast as she could in the direction of the trees where she had disposed of the smokers. She would lose any pursuers in the thickness of the grotto and then exit on the eastern side, making her way for the docks-

_FIZZZZZCH! _Alissa screamed, sliding to a halt. Something very fast and black went sailing past her head, grazing her hair with perfect accuracy. She was standing in the middle of the road, just on the threshold of the park, and she saw the little black thing impale itself into the grass before her. It was an odd little device. Something like a crescent shaped… wing. It looked just like a wing! And not just any wing, either. A bat wing…

_God… no…_ Her heart stopped. No… no this was _not _happening! She turned.

Oh for the love of mercy… it _was_ happening. He was standing there in the middle of Barker Road, tall and menacing and dark, shrouded in his armor and cowl. His arm stretched out, a single, gloved index pointing right at her.

"Don't…" He said one word, and she felt _ice_ sink into her body and freeze her solid. He did not speak very loud… but he spoke _very_ fiercely.

_So this is what my life has come to… whatever life I had before, anyway… Alissa Jagner, the Toxica herself… standing before…. before…. before the _Batman_! _

Part of her wanted to scream. The majority of her told her to stand her ground… but how could she!? It was him. The real one. The Batman. The Dark Knight. The terror of Gotham's underworld, the scourge of this city's injustice! And not only had she just butchered an entire family, and walked out covered in their blood and the blood of one of Gotham's police officers… she had fired into a crowd of innocent bystanders. He had _seen_ that! He had _seen_ it all! She… was as good as dead.

_No… no I can't be…_

The Batman approached. She could not even see the creature's eyes. It was funny, seeing him standing here before her. She had vague, vague memories of her past life, of her imperfection days, when she had aspired to be a psychologist. What little she held onto from that old life, she saw the Batman and felt something like familiarity there, and deduced, in a moment, that at one point, she must have _idolized_ the dark one approaching her. Had she had a crush? Had she had a fascination with discovering the interior of his actions? Had he even saved her at some point? Whatever it was, she felt a small dose of… liking… as she looked upon him.

"Don't judge me too harshly," she begged, trying not to tear up. "I'm just confused right now. This has _not_ been a good night for me."

The Batman shook his head. Or, was it more appropriate to say, 'The Batman shook _its_ head'? How could such a human shaped figure… give off such an inhuman, almost animalistic-like aura. "What have you done?" It was not a question. He knew what she had done. Everyone on Barker Road would soon know. It was an observation of her guilt that he voiced aloud, wishing to believe that he could understand the whyness of the action. "Why have you done this?"

"Please," she whispered, her fists clenched, "just… just don't." She backed away, slowly, stepping onto the grass of the park. She was terrified. He was closing the distance between she and him, and still she could not see his eyes in this terrible darkness. She suddenly tripped, stumbling backwards over the black wing that he had thrown at her. Alissa cried out as she fell. The tip of the weapon cut into her leg as she hit the grass. The Batman stopped, only half a foot away, staring down at her with what she now saw were the most intense blue eyes of the only the most intense judgment.

"You're going to Gordon," the Batman promised her quietly. "You're going away."

Alissa closed her eyes, not wanting to see her doom overtake her. She was a helpless child.

"_I think not_."

A voice suddenly rang out of the darkness. And this voice was even more terrible than that of the Batman's… Alissa's eyes snapped open. The Batman turned his head slowly, his eyes firm and concentrating. The voice that spoke was very gravelly and high, almost wind-like… wispy…

"Show yourself," Batman demanded.

"_With pleasure_…" And suddenly, the ground around Alissa shook violently. She let out a cry of shock, yelping as the grass beneath her rippled as if hit by a powerful seismic tremor. Then, from somewhere to the left of the Dark Knight, the grass exploded, and something erupted from the ground. Alissa paled, becoming stony as she and the Batman beheld the terrible form before them.

There was massive creature climbing out of the earth! It must have been a demon, for all Alissa knew… perhaps a demon sent to drag her down to the Hell that awaited her. But the demon stood tall and looked down not upon her, but upon Batman. Its body was dark green and organically plant-like, hundreds of vines and strands of ivy hanging off of its body. Its limbs were thick and elongated, its head triangular and sagging. Where eyes should have been there was nothing… nor a nose… but there was a mouth! And its mouth stretched down long and dark, green fog misting from it as it made the most terrible, rasping sound.

"_I've shown myself, Batman… what now?_" The creature's mouth did not move at all, and yet the voice seemed to come from its unmoving lips regardless. Terrible screams were orchestrating the street as distant onlookers watched from doors and windows. By now, police cruisers were speeding into the fray near the Alvarez home. Officers were leaping from the cars with shotguns, barking orders as the surrounding civilians.

The Batman stepped back, pulling something from the yellow utility belt that he had fastened around his midriff. It was a metal sphere, about the size of a baseball.

"_TOXICA! COME TO ME!_" Suddenly, the creature reached out with one of its terrible arms, and it descended down upon Alissa. She made no noise as it swept her into the air, removing gravity and its associations from her as the arm retracted back into the creature's body… along with her. She was suddenly aware of the sensation of being tossed into the slimiest, writhy abode, blackness and muck overtaking her as she was pulled into the depths of the green monster's body.

In the darkness of this new world, she felt the ability to breathe stolen away from her. Her lungs imploded upon themselves, her vision meaningless to the purpose of eyes. All sound became distorted, and her body was compressed into pure numbness…

Outside, the Batman threw the spherical object at the demon's body. The device exploded, true to the promise of specialized bombs, searing part of the creature's body with orange-red. The creature, however, set ablaze, merely shrugged off the attack, and a terrible laughter issued from its unmoving mouth again: "_Try harder._"

From inside, Alissa felt the warmth and saw the light that was bleeding through the plant creature's form, and knew of fire in that moment. And then suddenly, her entire body was jerked violently, and she felt herself sliding through the dark mass, down, down, down-

-until she exploded outward, seeing the world around her once more, able to breathe again… but also aware that she was being drug down to and across the grass of the park by a massive black vine that was reaching out of the grotto where the bodies of the smokers still lay… As the massive vine drug her, she saw the giant creature burning, saw its slam down a fist upon the ground, nearly missing the Batman, who rolled out of the way and tossed a series of small, crescent shaped projectiles into its gaping, now flaming mouth…

And then she was pulled into the thickness of the grotto, and the vine released her. Staring up into the star ridden sky, she saw a hooded, masked face staring back. The mask was dark, as was the hood, and for the second time, a firm index was pointed at her.

"Come," he whispered in a masculine tone. In the distance, Alissa heard the voice of the demon: "_Come_…"

_My God… it's the same person. _That person reached out with a gloved hand, and she took it at once. The man yanked her hard to her feet, and quickly pulled her through the mess of grotto and into the street on the east side. A black limousine was waiting on the curb. As the two of them ran for the car, Alissa looked over her shoulder, and saw the plant demon collapsing in on itself, dissipating into fiery ruin, the silhouette of the Batman on the other side…

And then she was being forced into the backseat of the limousine. Within seconds, the car was silently turning around, before it sped off in the opposite direction of the park and the battle that had taken place at it.

Alissa took in the backseat.

The hooded man sat staring at her beside the window. Alissa glanced up at the front. Pamela Isley was staring at her from the passenger seat. Alissa's heart leapt.

"Ivy…" she whispered. Pamela, however, looked very sour.

"What," she said quietly, dangerously, "have you been doing?"

Alissa's stomach lurched. She winced at hearing how much _venom_ was in Pamela's tone of voice. She looked, slowly around, at the hooded man… except that the man was no longer hooded. Jason Woodrue looked back at her, beyond furious.

"Oh no…."


	32. Chapter 32

"I'm sorry," Alissa whispered, her voice shaking hard. Pamela's eyes narrowed.

"Are you now?"

"Good to hear it." Woodrue was smirking, staring ahead. "Winston, my son, take Bledford Avenue, will you? Go the long way."

"Sir," acknowledged a gruff voice from the driver's seat, though Alissa could hardly see the man in the dark. The vehicle turned down the road that Woodrue had commanded, and they were driving past the docks.

"Are you going to kill me?" Alissa breathed, her heart dancing and dancing painfully in her chest. Pamela nodded.

"Someday. Not tonight, though. We need you tonight. You'll be punished another time, mark my words. I'll see to it."

"I believe that," Woodrue chuckled, drumming his fingers against the glass of the window. Sirens were still going off in the distance. "Winston, another left here at the sign and pull into Mayhew Station. Toxica, look sharp."

Alissa jerked forward at once, her breathing soft and shuddery. _Someday. Not tonight, though. We need you tonight. You'll be punished another time, mark my words. I'll see to it. _Those words burned into her heart and left a deep wound. Pamela probably meant it. She had turned away from Alissa and was staring ahead now, arms crossed, body still. They were coming up on a gas station to the right, dimly lit with a single street lamp casting an orange glow.

"Where are we going?" Alissa dared to ask in a soft voice.

Neither Woodrue nor Pamela answered. Winston, however, looked up into the rearview mirror and said, "I'd be careful asking questions. You're not in their good books."

"Thank you, Winston," Woodrue said firmly, and Winston got the point. He shut up.

The limousine pulled into the parking lot of the dumpy little station, and from the side of the building, out of the darkness, there pulled in a second limousine, this one maroon colored and slightly smaller. Winston put the limo into park and reached over to open his door.

"No need, Winston," Woodrue told the man softly. "Your job's done."

"You sure?" Winston sounded confused.

"We're sure," said Pamela, leaning in. Suddenly her long hair blocked Alissa's view of the driver. Pamela lingered there for a moment, and Alissa heard Winston groan loudly. The large man in the dark shook violently for a second, and then the ruckus ended. When Pamela pulled herself back, Winston was very, very still. Pamela held out a thumbs up with her green gloved hand. Woodrue nodded approvingly.

"Thanks, Winston," he muttered respectfully, opening his own door. "Come on, now, hurry, into the other car. Alissa, shotgun. Pamela, with me in the back." They all moved fast, stepping out into the night and shutting their doors behind them, running across the lot to the other vehicle. Alissa glanced over her shoulder as she entered the other car. Winston's corpse stared back at her accusingly.

_Sorry_, she thought. Why she said it, she had no idea. But she felt…_bad_ for him.

She climbed shakily into the passenger seat, greeted by a silent nod from a dark-skinned man in shades. Shades…in the middle of the night… He, like Winston, was very muscular and hefty.

"Problem?" Pamela asked quietly in Alissa's ear as she settled herself onto the fine leather. Alissa shook her head quickly.

"N-no."

Pamela squeezed her shoulder tightly as the vehicle began to move fast. "Oh, that's good… I would hate to think you were losing your perfections, _Toxica_."

"Never, _Ivy_," Alissa attempted back… but _what_ was she attempting? Respect, or condescension? She felt she was failing at both.

"To the mill, Chetch," Woodrue muttered. Chetch, the driver, nodded, not speaking a word as he sped off silently down the road. "That should throw any pursuers off of our trail for some time. Winston's corpse will add to the list of convenient dealings. And the Batman will be thrown off the scent for a while."

"For a while?" Pamela shot back, fists clenched. "It seems that 'a while' doesn't suit him? He's too good at his job."

"You sound like you admire him."

Pamela smiled. "I _do_ admire him." She turned away from him. "Are we ready for this?"

"Yes we are. Everything is in order. But I should like to not have to handle anymore crazies this evening than absolutely necessary. His men will be waiting on the docks."

"Where are we going!?" Alissa piped up for the second time, aggravated now that the both of them could act as if she were invisible.

"You sound upset," Pamela noted, her arms tightening in cross. "Wanna elaborate?"

"I didn't do anything that you haven't done!" Alissa was angry, and she was aware of her insubordination to the woman that she was bound to serve. The awareness, however, was not enough to pacify the dragon inside. "I got rid of parasites in the garden. Isn't that how you'd word it?"

"You," Woodrue said pointedly, "are a very decorated killer, Alissa." He was smirking again. Alissa wanted to poison _him_. She would have, too, if she had her lipstick prepared, to hell with the consequences. She would turn around right here in the seat and suck the life out of his body. That was what the savage dragon desired. But the rational Alissa still fought hard. She let him continue. "You should have heard Officer Kant on the radio. He was very disturbed by the grisliness of your lack of control."

"And all those bodies in the park, tut tut." Pamela shook her head. "Control, Toxica."

"I _have_ control!" Alissa cried, spinning around in her seat quickly. In one swift move, Chetch's arm struck out and his fist slammed into Alissa's cheek. Alissa screamed as the driver pinned her against the window, still maintaining smooth control over the drive. Woodrue and Pamela made no move to aid her.

"Hurt her," Woodrue commanded. Chetch nodded, and suddenly his thick fingers closed hard on her cheek. Alissa bit her lip hard to stop herself from screaming. His nails were sharp! "Well done, you may release her." When Chetch did, blood was dribbling from Alissa's mouth and cheek. She leaned as far away from the driver as possible as the car sped on and on. "Know that penalties of idiocy, Toxica."

"Never let your guard down in this twisted world," Pamela cooed.

"You'll find heart in learning from this night, the both of you," Woodrue finished. He watched the docks outside of his window. "One who lacks control, the other discipline. They are, in a sense, brother and sister. I'll show you how to go about things."

"Where _are_ we headed?" Alissa mumbled for the third time.

Woodrue smiled. "The plant on the other side of the docks. Timberdane Boat Manufacturing. It's been out of business for years… which is why it was chosen as a fine spot indeed."

"A spot for what!?"

_Vrriinng_. A light suddenly emitted from Woodrue's pocket, and he reached with a swift hand for his cellular. "Woodrue," he answered briskly.

Naturally he kept speaker off, so no one but him heard over was on the other end. However, Woodrue got a satisfied smile upon his lips after a minute, and nodded to no one in particular. "That's the best damn news I've heard all day. Where will she be stored?" About twenty seconds passed, and then his smile spread into a wide grin. "This is why I asked you to look into the matter. You're phenomenal. I'll give you a nice little bonus. I will be calling you at dawn to finalize things. Keep your phone close. Thank you very much for this, W." He disconnected, looking triumphant about something. "Well, this night just got better. Our work will soon be paying off."

"Are we allowed to know a thing?" Pamela dared not sound too demanding.

"Not in the slightest, for now," he replied firmly. "But in time. Just up here, Chetch."

No one said a word more until the limo had reached the entrance to the old, massive, dockside steel plant that loomed beyond the barbed wire fence. Wreckage of half-built sailboats and barges littered a wide wasteland of metal debris, with a few buildings and shattered windows decking out the concrete kingdom. Beyond this, the plant and its many tall, cylindrical chimneys looked old and creepy in the dark, as far as Pamela was concerned. Alissa, however, hardly noticed the place. Still she felt a cold sense of apprehension for the current state, and she desired nothing less than to escape from these people and take a hiatus, to get her mind under control…

They stepped out into the dark, cold night, and Chetch leaned against the door, smoking a cigar. He waved them off as Pamela and Alissa followed Woodrue to the fence. It was chained up good with reinforced steel, but Woodrue stepped to the right. There, covered by a fat mess of ivy, was a small door, a separate way to get through the fence. He pulled a flash light from his coat pocket and directed the beam at the door handle. In the middle of the knob was a blue gem. He pressed his thumb against it.

Suddenly, a light sprang to life from one of the nearby shacks, and someone in the dark can running out of the door. In fact, there was many someones. At least twenty someones. Nineteen of those someones settled themselves in the middle of the courtyard, while the twentieth approached the fence. As the someone came into the light, they saw that it was a woman. The woman was very youthful, blonde and beautiful, though her attire… was less than many would consider to be "orthodox": Pamela noted the full body, black and red spandex that ended with two curved horns on the head, at the ends of which dangled bells. She also noted the pale white face, the black lips and heavy dark eyeliner. This woman was a jester of sorts, her attire said. The youthful clown let out a high-pitched _Wheeeee_ and began to cartwheel her way towards the fence… and as she did, Alissa body went numb.

For a brief moment, Alissa saw… Alissa Jagner, cartwheeling and cartwheeling, as Alissa Jagner had always loved to do… but Toxica remembered what she must be and what she must do. Toxica… not Alissa… _Oh God, not Alissa… _

The clown bounced up and down excitedly as she threw herself against the fence and beamed at them. "Welcome to Mr. J's Playhouse!" she cried, throwing her arms out. Suddenly, a sharp voice rang across the courtyard. One of the figures in the distance was calling out, "Shut up, Harley!"

Harley, as this woman seemed to be called, suddenly clapped her hands to her mouth, muttering an "Oops." She laughed nervously. "I forgot I'm not supposed to scream that out loud. Heh. Heh." Looking embarrassed, she tried to put on a more professional, stern expression… which did not mix well with her clown-like appearance. "Mr. J's been waitin for ya's!" She winked at Woodrue, who returned a kind smile.

"Well that's wonderful," he said politely. "I have very much been looking forward to meeting with him as well. May we come in?"

"Um hmmmm," Harley cooed, giving him a thumbs up. "But first, you gotta give me the password!" She grinned widely and giggled like a child. Woodrue still smiled, nodding politely again.

"Alright, then, the password. Is it a joke?"

Harley's eyes narrowed. Pamela and Alissa actually exchanged looks, both thinking the same thing: _What a waste of time_.

"Maaayybbbeeee," Harley said, putting her hands upon her hips. Woodrue nodded.

"Alright, then: Knock, knock." He popped his neck, letting his hands slide to and fro at his side. Harley beamed.

"A knock knock joke?"

"A big knock knock," Woodrue said calmly, his eyes twinkling, "but… not exactly a joke."

Harley looked confused… but all too soon the true became clear. There was a low rumbling beneath their feet, and Harley looked around wildly.

"What the-" But that was all she managed to get out before something exploded in the distance. She spun around to the screams of the nineteen men who had assembled in the courtyard. Chunks of rock were flying everywhere, as were Harley's men. From the center of where they had stood, one massive, dark, fat vine was flailing about from a crater in the ground, whipping about and tossing men aside. Harley fell back against the fence… and Woodrue took advantage to step forward, a knife suddenly flashing in his hand. One hand gripped the back of Harley's suit firmly, the other situated the end of the knife against her back. Harley gasped.

"Open the fence, please, and no more games," Woodrue asked, more politely than ever before. He was still smiling, and he was so calm and confident. "Open up before I open you."

Suddenly, a voice exploded out of… Harley's body?... and a bout of giggles suddenly erupted in the air around them. "Ooooo, hoo hoo! Ooooooo! Better do what he says, m'dear, or you might be unfitted for the kind of work we do here!"

"O-okay! Y-yes, Mr. J…" Harley gulped, laughing nervously, and held up her right arm. Using her left, she pressed down on the top part of her right wrist. Silently, the little side entrance swung open at once, and Woodrue happily released her.

"Thank you, Miss Harley," he offered her pleasurably. "Your cooperation is appreciated." He raised a hand, and brought it down. At once, the giant plant that had grown out of the ground and attacked Harley's soldiers sunk down into the earth, and all became still in the junkyard save for the scattering clowns. He promptly took Pamela's hand in his own and led her through the fence, Alissa shakily following behind. Harley closed the fence behind them, and quickly ran ahead, fuming.

"The actual password wasn't a knock knock joke!" she cried as she sprinted for the distant plant. "Hey morons! Show these bozos in… the hard way!" She jerked her arm in the direction of the oncoming visitors, and suddenly, her clowns, as Pamela now saw they were, were rallying together once more. Knives were flashing. "Bring 'em to the Mister J in stripes!"

Woodrue and his company stopped. "Oh me, oh my, how can this be?" he whispered, shaking his head sadly. The clowns were sprinting across the courtyard at them, knives in hand, expressions full of fury for Woodrue's earlier attack. "Alissa, deal with them."

Alissa nodded, pushing aside her interior war in light of the current circumstances. She ran forward, breathing hard as she pushed herself into the air and slammed down a fierce kick into the first clown's temple, cracking his skull and slapping him against the concrete. As she landed, she unsheathed a switchblade from her boot, the knife glinting dangerously in the night, and she slashed the throat of a second clown who was bearing down upon her.

From the distance, Pamela and Woodrue waited patiently, observing Alissa's uncontrollable power and rage. It was a bloodbath. She moved so quickly and gracefully, a deadly ballerina, kicking, slicing and punching. She dodged and rolled, twisted in the air and snapped necks between her thighs. Within a matter of minutes, every clown that Harley had sent their way lay dead in puddles of blood at Alissa's feet. She herself had already been bathed in the blood of the Alvarez family, and now the clowns' blood made her look like a human tomato. She looked around at them with her scarlet face, dripping and dripping and dripping as she placed sheathed the switchblade once more.

Woodrue nodded contently, taking Pamela's hand and leading her towards Alissa. Pamela stared around at the carnage before her, grinning from ear to ear in sadistic delight. She made sure to trod upon the corpses as she walked with Woodrue, stamping down hard upon them, spitting at them and cursing them for daring their attack. Woodrue kept a firm pull on her, however, and her disrespect was short-lived. Alissa followed them silently towards the main doors of the factory.

Those doors suddenly exploded open, and the man himself beamed at their approach, giggling and giggling, holding his stomach hard as he dissolved into utter glee.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" the Clown Prince of Crime cried, punching the doors in adrenaline-like frenzy. "You've done very well! Very well! I commend you! HARLEY!" He suddenly roared her name into the darkness behind him, and Harley ran to his side at once. Following her was a much larger group of clowns. Many of them were shaking, terrified as Alissa approached, who gave them all a deadly glare.

"Mistah J?"

"Show our guests to the meeting room, dearest," the Joker purred. "I'll bring up some tea in a moment, J-Man!" The Joker sprung forward and threw a tight hug around a startled Woodrue, before pulling away and coming to stand before Pamela herself. His purple gloved hands slapped down hard upon Pamela's shoulders, and she stared at him with wide eyes. Alissa moved forward in a threatening manner… but more than ten pistols suddenly rose from the darkness behind the Joker, all of them concentrating on Alissa. Woodrue held Alissa's arm firmly, keeping her in place. "And who are you, dear?" the Joker breathed into Pamela's face.

Forcing herself to keep her nerve at its best, Pamela gave him her rosiest smile, batting her eyelashes, and she whispered, "Poison Ivy."

"Poison…Ivy…?" The Joker seemed fascinated with the name. "Stupid name, glorious name, but a name is a name is a name… You'll work out fine, I'm sure. And if not…" He leaned forward and placed his lips near her left ear. "…we'll throw your pieces in the ocean and be done it." He licked her ear after that, and pulled away, his concentration suddenly upon Alissa. Pamela stood rooted to the spot, not knowing how to react.

Alissa and the Joker stared each other down. "Blonde. Beautiful. Total psycho. This blood doesn't belong to my bitches alone. Tell me girlfriend, what's the 4-1-1?" The stupid little man giggled. "Isn't that what kids are saying these days? Well, not the ones I steal tongues from, of course… and that was one talkative fourth grader! But seriously… you've been having all sorts of fun tonight, haven't you?"

"I butchered an entire family tonight," Alissa whispered into his face, emulating Pamela's cool reserve. "I bathed in their blood. I've left corpses littering a park, too. And your clowns have been slaughtered. Ask me who I haven't butchered tonight, Joker?"

The Joker let out a terrible, shrilling laugh, and reached down to his side. A silver pistol suddenly was kissing the right side of Alissa's head.

"_God_ you're beautiful. But you need to be restrained, dear, for all of our sakes. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't kn-" Alissa began to talk, but suddenly, her sentence was lost in a terrible scream. She grabbed her head in agony, falling to her knees. Woodrue jumped away, Pamela spinning about, and the Joker was handing his pistol back to Harley, the little needle hidden inside the barrel still poking out slightly. Alissa was on her back, screaming and screaming in the most terrible kind of pain, fire burning her on the inside. Woodrue looked at the Joker incredulously.

"What's happening!?" he demanded. The Joker batted his eyelashes.

"The same thing that will happen to all of you," he cried over Alissa's screams, "if you don't cut off your ears this second and hand them to me!" His grin could not be clearer. Harley was looking radiant and was chortling with her goons.

"I beg your pardon!?" Pamela demanded.

"Too late!" The Joker cried, and he reached down to his chest. Situated on the upper part of his purple clad torso was a small, bright green sunflower. He squeezed it gently… and a noxious, foul-smelling lime gas suddenly spewed out of the flower's center. Pamela felt her throat shake violently, felt her skin itch and her eyes water. She began to cough, unable to control herself as she struggled to breath. The world went dark, and she fell onto the ground. The gas hit Alissa in very much the same way, and her screams were suddenly silence as she too sunk down into the darkness of sleep.

Woodrue, meanwhile, only stood and glared at the clown, his arms crossed. The Joker and his thugs were now looking a little off put by this.

"That's unexpected," the Joker whispered, taking his hand away from the flower and tapping his chin. "You're a tough little sausage!"

"Don't try your tricks on me," Woodrue warned him quietly, prodding the Joker hard in his little green flower. "It will only embarrass you." He turned to face Harley and her goons, who concentrated their guns on him. Woodrue shook his head. "You will escort me to the meeting room, and you will revive Ivy and Toxica. You will bring me tea, unlaced, unpoisoned, and we will discuss the terms of our partnership, which, I will remind you, is currently under threat of nonexistence because of the rude welcoming I and my business partners have received this evening." He turned to the Joker, his eyes ablaze with fury. "And mark me, Joker, if you try to double-cross or harm us anymore in _any_ way, I swear by the Maker above that I will kill every last fucker in this stinkhole." He stepped forward, so close to the startled clown. "Starting with your woman and ending with you."

The room was deadly silent. The air…so cold and uninviting. The Joker stood angry and shocked, as did his crew. Harley ran up to Woodrue, snarling, taking out a knife.

"You bastard!" she snapped, raising the knife. "You can't talk to my baby like that!"

Woodrue turned around quickly, spinning so fast to face her that she dropped the knife in shock, and let out a little shriek. His hand reached out, gripping her neck tightly. His mad eyes bore into her piercing blue ones.

"One…more…word…"

Harley was trembling. "S-sorry…"

The Joker grinned.


	33. Chapter 33

In the present day, Albert and Anassa Wesker stood before a massive, reinforced tank, observing the specimen inside with keen interest. The creature inside wore the skin of a human being, but acted like nothing less than a ferocious tiger. The little capsule of P30 attached to her bare chest was filling her with such powerful, raw, animalistic tendencies.

"She already had the skill to match me in combat," Anassa noted, observing the leaping creature as the woman inside bound about with inhuman agility across ledges built into the walls, jumping at miraculous feats. The thing in there was no longer Selina Kyle. It was something else entirely, something desperate to escape from its human bonds. It _looked_ like Kyle, save for the glowing, crimson veins and the bright, luminescent yellow eyes, but it undoubtedly her. But Kyle herself was gone. What was before them was nothing less than an untamed, snarling beast, who hid from the lights in her cell, clinging to the shadows. "All she needed was proper encouragement from the right sources to become a potent weapon. One that we can use, Albert."

Albert nodded. He was very pleased, and for once in his life, he showed it. "To well, I'd say. She's a natural acrobat, an agile killer when we put her to field. Spencer mighty be happy enough to give you pardon this time."

"Yes, he might…yeah…" Anassa's head bowed, her smile fading. Wesker noted this.

"You don't believe he will?"

"It's not that I don't believe he will notice my talents… it's more that… I don't really care to sell her to him."

Wesker flared. "You remember the discussion we had about potential give-backs?"

_Yes, I remember. And I also haven't forgotten the discussion we had on more important things than give-backs. _"Listen… she could be useful for our own ends. We just need to give her the opportunity. I believe in… our goals, Albert. Not his. He's no different than Woodrue. Surely you don't feel loyalty to any of these wastes of space?"

"Neither are wastes of space, though, Anassa," Wesker snapped. "They're as efficient at their work as you or I. And they're essential. Keeping Spencer under our good books is a crucial element to our goals. Woodrue is very much the same. Once your work with Lasetta has been concluded, we can make preparations to deal with Woodrue. But for now, we're discussing the future of…" He studied the woman inside carefully, his eye twitching. "…_Kyle_." He never uttered the name 'Catwoman.' It sounded too childish, too _fun_. He despised it as much as he despised the name 'Poison Ivy.'

"Alright, then, what do you want me to do? Hand over to Spencer a capable weapon that we could use to make Woodrue's removal that much easier and swifter?" Anassa fumed. "She would be an adequate guard… but also something more. She's an infiltrator. Even with my enhanced senses, Albert, she got the drop on me… in her normal state. Imagine, for a moment, what that ability, that prowess, could do for us in her enhanced state."

Wesker was too clever for her skirting to do her much good. He nodded, smiling to himself. "Luna."

Anassa swore on the inside. She had not wanted to…admit to that. Not yet, anyway. But damn it he _knew_. She could not beat around the bush anymore, as she desperately claimed. "Yes…"

"I thought so. Docile infiltrators work better for that sort of thing."

"I know where she's being held," Anassa said swiftly, her fist clenched. "And I know who is holding her. I will go to see him very soon. He's violating contractual obligations-"

"The Joker does not honor 'contractual obligations,'" Wesker corrected her. "That's why he has such notoriety. Woodrue, myself, you… we all were taking the greatest risk when considering him as a business partner in all of this. The man is warped; he will not honor us anymore."

"I don't intend to make him," Anassa said darkly, turning away from Kyle and staring up into his red eyes, her hand tenderly stroking his cheek. "I intend to destroy him."

Wesker nodded, taking her hand in his. "That much is evident. But at what cost?"

"No cost, love. Only peace… and a few million to put towards our endeavors. It was a mistake to take him on, I agree… but we have the chance to do something about it now. And with Kyle on our side, we can accomplish just that. What of Wayne?"

Wesker smiled softly. "Wayne is busy. He's been very, very busy. He paves a bloody way through the ranks, one at a time…"

"The ranks?"

"Tricell. Once word got out about the attacks in Gotham, Tricell representatives swept in at once to analyze the situation and see how they could profit. The creature that the Joker unleashed in Gotham, the prototype, its body fell into the river, and they've sent in representatives to collect samples. Wayne… he was waiting for them."

"You've sent him back…to Gotham?"

"He's being monitored carefully and he's being kept in the dark. I have very trusted allies ensuring it. I'll need him there. Isley's already in transit now. She'll be in Gotham by morning. I've already made arrangements to have Woodrue out of the facility. Once he's out, I'll be moving Wayne in. He'll protect Isley. Woodrue is under the impression that Batman abducted Isley alone. He'll see a mutual partnership festering between the two and not assume my own hand in the game. Once Isley's proven her adaption to Lasetta, we can begin planning an extraction."

"And you believe he'll leave the facility willingly?" Anassa asked incredulously. Wesker shook his head.

"No. Woodrue will not leave the facility lightly. My plan, however, will be more than adequate of an encouragement. You'll see soon enough."

"Or you could just tell me now."

"I just bet I could…" He turned away from her and began to walk towards a single table in the center of the room, upon which sat a silver laptop. Anassa followed him.

"Tell me!" she demanded.

Wesker said nothing, but instead sat down at the table and opened up the laptop. He began to type something quickly into it, ignoring the penetrating stare of his lover. That look upon her face had murdered countless people, but he knew she would not dare touch him. The information in this laptop was the most valuable on the planet… and in any event, he intended to show her the truth. He pulled something onto the screen, and finally turned it towards her.

She gasped.

_Justice League Watchtower_ was labelled beneath the image of the massive, T-shaped space station that orbited on the screen before her. 

In the present day, Lasetta was suffering. She lay within the safety of a massive clump of vines and poison oak, fiercely rubbing and gasping in the darkness, her smell wickedly strong, her poisonous fumes saturating the air to death. The sensation she was going through was a terrible, and wonderful, one. Desire had overtaken her, a need to touch and descend into a series of fiery actions. When she had been brought back into her massive prison, she had descended into such ravenous attitudes. Suddenly, her body was transforming from within, and the _memories_… the memories were becoming more and more real to her.

Even as an image in her mind, she could feel Olivero's breath upon her chest, feel him squeezing down upon her. And now, as her mind rapidly shifted itself into repair, she understood that feeling. That feeling was passion, and it was something that she was steadily coming to realize was not only a part of her, but almost a necessity. Still, the word evaded her, but the hormones did not. Here, in the dark, she enjoyed the sensation as she explored her body, discovering new roots into her vastly growing tree of knowledge into the sensual explorations of the mind. It was sweaty, tight work, a pressure like no other… and she did not enjoy the isolation anymore.

She wanted to be touched by this man again. Whoever he had been, he had given her such sensations that her vastly growing mind could revel in. When the doctors analyzed her, they spoke in whispers and in fearful glances that always found her. Woodrue had stopped visiting as much as he used to, as had Ansa (or "Ana," as Lasetta had now begun to call her, her speech and pronunciation at a very excellent level now). Sometimes Anassa came in to give her shots and candy, but always the woman was quiet and she always left quickly. They had not danced in days. It was beginning to put a deep strain on Lasetta's mind… as had the memories.

The memories would not leave her, and as her body advanced itself, the deeply intimate moments that came back to her, the ones with the man, Olivero… those were the ones that left the deepest mark. More often than not, Lasetta would find herself fantasizing about the man more than she did anything else, of his touch and sensation, the way he moved… Naturally, she had no concept of the word "sex," but she understood its power, and understood that it must have once had power over her. There must have been a point in her life when she had been experiencing these memories on a regular basis. After all, she _knew_ them to be memories. So… there had to have been life before "Daddy" ever came along.

And that was what made her…uncomfortable. Her life had been a short one, but Woodrue had always been her life. Now, something was happening. Reminders of something lost, but not altogether missing. Something that still had a place there, waiting for her to find it. The sexual had grown rampant in her body. Already she was accelerating past the mental anguish of puberty, becoming more in tune with a natural need to mate. She would catch herself staring up at the roof of her greenhouse, now repaired and sealed off from the cracks that her plants had put into it. She would find herself staring up at the men on the walkway. Those handsome men who sent down to her physical raptures. She often found herself devising, sneakily, ways of luring those men down here, into her garden, so that she could talk them into touching her the way that Olivero did in those…memories…

Once or twice, a massive tendril, at her command, had sprouted from the ground and carried her up, up, up to the ceiling, sprawling her body firmly against the glass as she stared into the wide eyes of the young man on the other side. She had clawed at the glass, calling out to the man, begging him to join her… and he had run off, fetching those stupid security muscle heads with their stun guns. Oh how she _hated_ those men! Oh how she _despised_ them! She couldn't stand their smirks or their jittery movements. More often than not, she found herself thinking of ways to hurt them…

But why should she? They worked under "Daddy," and Daddy would never…never like it if…

_Oh goodness…. But should I care what Daddy wants? _

Rebellion. It had begun to grow within her. Soon, very soon, she was sure that Woodrue must return, and when he did, she must speak with him about moving forward from this large container and into something wider and bigger!

So she explored. So she dissolved into the natural demands of her body. The sensation, so pleasurable, was a dear highlight of existence. She wanted to feel the intoxication of her bodily labor. And the smell that came off of her, that bitter, horrid odor, mesmerized her mind as she lay among the flowers that blossomed at her touch. She wanted to find Olivero and have him touch her like this, have him climb atop and… and… Well, she wasn't quite sure. The _feeling_ was there, but what _was_ the feeling? What was this love dance between two people? What was this ritual? She must know. She must explore possibility. Possibility demanded it.

She reached an ultimate point in time, something she had explored some time ago. With enough concentration, she could maximize the good feeling and send it into a frenzy of goodness within. This point she had privately begun to call "cloudtop." Wet with her natural lubrication, Lasetta, ignorant and innocent of these natural, bodily obligations, ran across her greenhouse, plants exploding to life with every footfall, leaping into the air so faithfully and freely. And every time, as she willed it, as she privately commanded, the large vines would crash through the earth and catch her, giving her dominion over the air itself. Now, as her mind had finally advanced into something far greater than ever before, she was understanding just how much power she had and how much joy she found in that power.

But at the same time, privately, she held a secretive thought pattern from the plants: she hated them. Rather, she was beginning to hate them, beginning to despise how they were the only life she knew beyond the wicked room with the wicked injections that Woodrue and Ana would force her into. She controlled them, was their goddess… but she needed something beyond them, beyond this room and beyond this fortress of flora. It was unfair that Woodrue would expect her to stay here forever, now that she was learning so much about her body and… and the Olivero man. And not just him. The other people in those memories. Faces. Kind woman, kind man… Who were they? What were they to her? She had to find out. She had to know.

Lasetta rose and rose, twisting about in the air as Ana had taught her, until she was towering once more before the walkway at the top. It was late in the night, and only one person was present on the walkway tonight, silently typing away onto a laptop at a nearby desk, a cup of steaming coffee sitting beside him as his fingers moved across the keyboard with lightning speed. He glanced up, however, at her as she planted herself against the glass and stared with beaming eyes back at him.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Grandpa said softly, his red eyes becoming brighter as he studied her. Of course, "Grandpa" was becoming an old classification too. Lasetta had finally built up the courage to ask Ana, at one point, what Grandpa's name really was, since every time she mentioned the name "Grandpa," Ana would silently laugh to herself. Now, Lasetta knew the truth. His name was not Grandpa at all. It was W.

"I'm sorry, W… I can't sleep! Too many things going on!"

"What kinds of things?" Wesker asked from the other side of the glass. "Something that we should investigate?"

"No, not really." Lasetta smiled sadly to herself, her head lightly hitting the glass as she dropped it a little. "I was just wondering how much longer I was going to have to stay in here…"

"For as long as we tell you to," Wesker replied shortly, spinning her way in his chair and crossing his arms. "Until you're ready to go out into the world."

"And when will that _be_!?" Lasetta demanded, crossing her arms too. "How much longer do I have to wait, W!?"

"I imagine until Woodrue is satisfied with your development. You're growing at twice the rate he had hoped for. Things are shifting, naturally."

"Well I'm getting sick and tired of this stupid place!" Lasetta snapped, feeling no need to be respectful. She did not really have a concept of respect, anyway. She had the concept of, "This is what I want, this is how I want it". "I feel like I'll go craaazzzyy if I stay in here, W! Why don't you make Daddy let me out!?" She banged on the glass irritably, and the plants, hissing loudly, slapped against the glass too. Wesker was on his feet in a flash, moving so quickly towards the glass that, had she blinked, it would have seemed that the man teleported. His fiery red eyes glared deeply into her, and he shook his head.

"No, no, no," he warned. "I don't think that's wise."

"Well I don't care what you think," Lasetta said defiantly, giving a little "Hmph" after saying it. "I want out of here. I might throw a tantrum if I don't get out of here soon."

"The consequences," Wesker said dangerously, "would be severe."

Lasetta responded by sticking out her black tongue. Wesker, an eyebrow raising, turned away in annoyance. "You should get some sleep," he told her. "You have a visitor coming to see you."

"A visitor?" Lasetta was not so easily fooled. "You mean Ana?"

"Someone new. I wasn't supposed to say anything, but if it will make you shut up and go to sleep… There is someone coming in the morning and your meeting will be of the utmost importance. Daddy… will not be around, naturally. He will be very busy with his work. I'll have the room cleared for you both so that no one will be around to disturb you. But…" He spun around and gave her a dark look. "This is secrecy. Understand it and confirm it."

"Secrecy?" Lasetta's eyes shined. "A secret?"

"No one must know. It's going to be a secret meeting. Can you keep a secret?"

"I can!" Lasetta insisted earnestly. "Tell me, tell me!"

Wesker smiled now. "Alright, then… it's someone _just_ like you. Someone you'll be able to get very close to. Even touch."

"EVEN TOUCH!?" Lasetta screamed, punching the air and making her plants slam into the ceiling. Alarms suddenly blasted all around them, and Wesker gave her a furious look.

"You little _idiot_!" he spat. But Lasetta was not listening. She was gleefully singing a private little song to herself in gibberish as she spun down, down, down to the ground, sinking into her hidey hole of vines, not wishing to be seen by the storm of security forces that were pushing themselves through doors on every side, guns ready, stun rods ready. Wesker intercepted them calmly, letting them know that the alarms were a false call, but deep down, in her foliage, Lasetta gleefully punched and punched the ground, shaking with pure delight. Someone like her was coming! Someone she could _touch! _Someone who would not fall down and….never wake up….

_This is what I'm talking about!_

She already knew what she must do, then…

She must trick this visitor into helping her escape.

Pamela sat within the confines of the armored truck as it sped down Gotham's downtown district. It was early, early morning, but she could not be tired if she tried her damndest. She was home. She was finally home. The familiar, putrid smell of fishy pollution hit her nostrils hard as they swept silently into the city. Sitting across from her on mental benches, automatic machine guns in hand, were two heavily armored soldiers in thick gas masks, giving them a very phantom-like appearance. On the shoulders of their armor was a crest: a red and white hexagon. The insignia of the Umbrella Corporation.

She herself had been given simple dress attire from Wesker: a simple green summer dress. Nothing more, nothing less. It was enough to blend in well once she was on the street. However, he had drastically changed her appearance. Her hair had been tied back into a bun, dyed blonde, her green lips painted red to mask the poisonous aspects that would have drawn attention. Her eyes were no longer their vivid green, but hidden behind light blue contacts. On the street, she was to refer to herself as 'Vanessa Winter.'

_All of this… all of this… the girl had better be worth a damn fortune. _

Or else. She eyeballed the soldiers and their guns, and began to formulate possibilities in her mind as to how she could kill them and escape, if she needed to. One plan after another passed through, but none of which seemed wise: Wesker was offering her a future if she went through with his goals. Instead, she decided to play with them.

"Want to fuck me?" she asked out of nowhere, crossing her legs and lying across the metal bed upon which she sat. Her cuffed hands played with her dress comfortably enough. In response, guns were raised at once in her direction. Pamela grinned widely at those guns, kissing the air in their direction. "Just kidding. You're not my type… So what are your names?"

Nothing came from them. Pamela laughed aloud, putting mirth behind every note. "Come now, come now… don't be _shy_… I'll start: my name is Poison Ivy. Now your turn."

The armored soldiers looked at one another, and even through their helmeted heads, she could almost see their incredulous expressions. It was amazing how the inexpressible could be so expressive. One of them grunted, "Alpha 32." His partner, however, shook his head and turned away from them both irritably. Pamela smiled even more widely.

"Alpha 32. Sexy. Why don't you come sit next to me?"

"No," Alpha 32 replied shortly. "Wesker warned us about you. We have our placement orders."

"I'll come over there, then?"

Once more, guns were aimed at her. "Do it and you get put to sleep with heavy voltage," the soldier who was not Alpha 32 warned her. "Don't play with fire."

Pamela laid her head upon her hands and smiled, gazing longingly at him. "I'm going to kill you," she whispered passionately to him. She closed her eyes and kept that smile alive. "Just wait for it. You too, Alpha 32…" She yawned, positioning herself in a fetal form, all too comfortable with unnerving these two boys. They were unnerved, she knew, no matter how much they tried to mask it. She could see the way their arms shook. And why should they not be? They'd know the atrocities she had committed… the men that had fallen victim to her kiss…

It was just…fun to threaten them. She had been stuffed into the cargo hold of an aircraft and flown away from wherever the hell that Umbrella facility had been built. She'd been stuffed then into this musty old truck, and had been sitting here for hours. She was bored. She needed something to do…someone to play with…

"I wanna go to Kwanchi's Palace," she said after a while, quite unexpectedly, making her guards jump. She had feigned sleep for several minutes. "The food there is to _die for_…" Her lips curved into a smile. Alpha 32 swore.

"Damn it, that's enough. Be mature."

"We're all adults here," said the other. "Let's act like them."

Pamela crossed her arms, walking her feet up the wall of the truck. "I don't wanna be an adult. I wanna be a kid forever…" She sucked dreamily on her thumb. "All this steel and not enough green. I want green and dirt beneath my feet. How much longer will we drive?"

"Until he's ready to let you out," Alpha 32 said shortly… but she noticed the slight incline of his helmet. He was watching those legs of hers… She remained unfocused on him, not letting him know that she had noticed. In her mind, a plan was still formulating, an ongoing battle between Poison Ivy and Pamela Isley. Pamela wanted to stick to the plan and stay with Wesker. Ivy, on the other hand, had awoken like a ferocious beast the moment they had crossed the Gotham city limits. Naturally, both parts were one whole, but sometimes she did split on important decisions. Perhaps Gotham should start calling her "Two-Face II."

After what seemed like an eternity, the truck came to a sudden halt. Pamela sat up, not hiding her anticipation to step outside once more. She had not gotten to see any green when she had left the facility: the airplane had been situated in an underground hanger. How she longed for the earth.

Alpha 32 held a two-way radio device to his helmet and spoke into it: "Confirmation blue? Please confirm blue."

"Confirmation blue. You're clear to unload."

"Roger." 32 put the radio away and motioned at Pamela. "Stand." As she obeyed, smiling intently at him, his partner walked over to the door on the left side of the truck and punched in a code into the little numerical lock beside it. At once, the door slid open. Morning light flooded into the truck, and Pamela collapsed inwardly, basking in the radiant sun that kissed her body with a warm passion. Stretching her arms out, she stepped towards the light, a guard on either side of her, and out into the Gotham morning.

They were standing inside a heavily fenced and private garden, an abundant utopia of green hedges and twisting trees. Before her, mighty and decaying, the old observatory. She knew about this place. She had been here in her youth, as part of a school trip. That life…seemed so very, very long ago. Now it was an old building that hardly looked suitable for life, and gave off the aroma of mildew. From beyond the fence, Gotham's skyscrapers beamed down at them, and thus she was hurried away, towards the crumbling steps that led up to the observatory doors.

Wesker himself was waiting for them inside of the old, crumbling lobby.

"Welcome," he said quietly. "It's a fine thing, you being here."

Pamela shook her head. "No time for foreplay. Where's the climax?"

"Downstairs. But you need a briefing before I take you down there."

Pamela cocked her head to the side. "Challenge me."

"I will. Come over here." He gestured at her to follow him across the cold floor towards a door that read **Janitor**. Pamela smirked.

"You don't want to try that."

Wesker ignored her. He opened the door and showed her in. It was not a janitor's closet, though. It was a small entryway to a little lab that had been set up inside. There were an odd assortment of things in this little crevice of a lab. Beakers filled with magenta and jade chemicals. Three laptops and papers that displayed all manner of complex equations, with some illustrations that showed what appeared to be humanoid diagrams with odd, odd anatomical anomalies…

And sitting at one of these laptops was a woman. She turned in her chair as Pamela approached… and immediately, something hard leapt up inside of Pamela's chest.

She…knew this woman. There was no mistaking it. It was just something that was inevitable knowledge. Those eyes, the shape, the way she stood and held herself firmly and maturely as she faced Pamela… these things she had seen before… not at all in the too distant past…

"You!" she breathed, coming close to the woman. The woman looked back inquiringly.

"Me?" Anassa Wesker asked politely, her head tilting to the side slightly.

Ivy smiled…and when she smiled, the grin was as true as could be. "Valere Frazeer…"

The woman from the amusement park.


	34. Chapter 34

Revelations of destined meetings notwithstanding, Dr. Jason Woodrue had problems of his own. All over the city, news casts and special alerts flashed brightly on building side LCD's, with the scrolling words **Justice League To Speak On Recent Hacking Scare Of Orbital 'Watchtower.' **

As Woodrue watched from the skyscraper hotel near the old entertainment district where he had once lived, the figures were moving solemnly onto the screen: The god-like Superman, the warrior called Wonder Woman, the red and gold clad Flash, the glowing Green Lantern and the the orange-clad, fish-god that the world called Aquaman. The five of them joined a sixth, silent member who awaited on the stage, the green Martian Manhunter.

They were all assembled in the massive auditorium of the Gotham City Convention Mastery, surrounded by no less than almost five thousand attending journalists, politicians, tourists… everyone who came to worship these false gods.

Superman walked forward towards the microphone, a grim expression upon his face, and began to talk. "At midnight last night," he said, "sensors placed in a surrounding proximity to the Justice League Watchtower picked up unusual anomalies within its radar systems. These anomalies were the result of a major hack which brought down our system under the control of a foreign entity. The signal was traced to Gotham City, and a message was transmitted to Watchtower personnel. The message has promised vital information on the whereabouts of wanted criminal Jason Woodrue, and Intel on the current development of a massive biological weapon being manufactured to secure an attack on the people of Gotham City." Superman paused for a moment, biting his lip, and then continued. "The message indicated that we make a public announcement at this press conference before the information can be released, and the unknown entity has assured us that this is no joke."

"We aren't happy with following a ghost blindly," Manhunter offered, his tone dark, "but as it stands, a major threat has been issued against the people of Gotham City should we refuse to present ourselves before these people. If Gotham City is indeed under the threat of attack, we will do what we can to appease these foreign terrorists in any way that we can…"

Superman nodded. "We are therefore ready to receive the information. Whoever has transmitted this message to us, and demanded this press conference, the world is waiting."

He went silent and stood backwards.

Woodrue watched intently, his tree-like body quivering in fierce fear. This could not be happening. This could not be happening at all. When W had first warned him that the Justice League was dropping into the city, he had known that he had to be ushered away from the main base. W was managing things there now. But what Woodrue had failed to accept was that the League could be of any real danger. He had thought their sudden need to address the city was a temporary inconvenience that would only put him off of schedule by a day or so. Now…now everything was changing before him.

Just _who_ knew of his whereabouts….and what was this of a biological weapon…?

Surely, so very surely, they couldn't mean-

The massive LCD that stood behind the League suddenly lit changed from the camera shot of the League to something entirely different. A photograph was being displayed on the screen… and Woodrue knew right away that the photograph was not on the part of the televising crew. It had been hacked, that screen, as well as this broadcast… and in that moment, Woodrue knew the true terror of this foreign entity…

A photograph of the Rilee family. Lasetta beamed at the crowd from the left side, planted firmly in the loving arm of her father. On either side of Woodrue stood two of his top research officials, who gave their boss horrified looks.

And then a robotic, filtered voice, electronically devious in sound, began to address the people: _"What you see before you," _the voice said, _"is the biological weapon that you have been warned about. You see her there, smiling…laughing, even… the girl on the left is named Lasetta Rilee… and she is going to bring hell upon Gotham City within a very short amount of time, as her masters perfect her and the deadly capabilities she will display… _

Woodrue…wanted to scream.

_"I would like to thank the people of Gotham, and the Justice League, for accepting my invitation to speak to you all today, to highlight to you the danger that Lasetta Rilee will bring upon this city and beyond. Jason Woodrue had taken her and transformed her into a creature capable of mass extermination. He will use her against this fair city and then move on, stirring deadly chaos within a few short months, for you see, her body has been transmutated to channel extreme amounts of poison, a conduit that will spread across the ecosystem and mutate whole forests and wild lands. This is a very real danger, and Woodrue aims for nothing less than this mass extermination." _

No… no, this could not be! This was not happening! It must not happen!

"S-sir-" one of the officials began, her voice trembling. Woodrue silenced her with a fierce look.

_"Jason Woodrue is currently hiding in Gotham City," _the voice continued, "_and lives among you even now. He has brought this deadly weapon back with him, ready to be unleashed onto the people at a moment's notice. The research that made this possible was taken from the studies of one Pamela Lillian Isley, known to the public as mass murderess "Poison Ivy." Woodrue and Ivy may possibly be collaborating, and immediate assistance from the military may be necessary to contain these criminals before they and their experiment can escape the city."_

_ "Furthermore, it is believed that an agent has infiltrated Woodrue's ranks and is currently working to steal the specimen under Woodrue's very nose… I wonder what his reaction would be like, if he were to discover that this news broadcast was merely a way of getting him out of the place he has so happily kept his secret garden girl… I wonder how he would react if he realized the truth about W…" _

Woodrue froze. Rooted to the spot…was an understatement. A boiling, cosmic rage was suddenly burning with a furiosity like no other!

"_GOD…NO…!" _

_"I would like to further state…that this broadcast is being transmitted by someone of great importance. An old friend of Gotham… who will stand beside this city and fight Woodrue alongside its people. Never believe that a city's friend ever truly goes away forever."_

And suddenly, the screen flashed. The photo of the Rilee family vanished… and in its place, something all too familiar… something that suddenly aroused the greatest blast of noise from the people of Gotham.

It was a simple insignia. An insignia of a bat.

Woodrue felt faint… and dangerous.

The members of the Justice League were suddenly whispering amongst themselves in utter joy, their faces stunned with desperate hope.

_"Jason Woodrue," the voice said, "is currently holed up in the Mason Hotel in the entertainment district of Gotham. League…go to work." _

"_NO!" _Woodrue screamed, jumping up and shaking with rage. _"THIS IS NOT HAPPENING! THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN!" _

"We have to run, now!" the female official cried. Her companion fully agreed. Woodrue, his head snapping in her direction, shrieked like the most terrible banshee…and his hand slithered forward with snake-like movement. The force of that strike sent the woman flying backwards, and she smashed right through the open glass of the hotel room. She fell screaming forever, stories and stories and stories to the concrete so very far below. The male official tried to flee, screaming for his life, but his own scream all too quickly joined the woman's deathly song as Woodrue reached forward and picked up the man. He was sent down to join her on the ground far below.

All the while, Woodrue was screaming, _"BETRAYED! BETRAYED! FUCKERS! WORTHLESS FUCKERS! WORTHLESS! BETRAYED!" _His head snapped down, and he saw that the League had vanished from the screen, and that the broadcast had concluded.

He had to run. Oh God how he had to run!

While the conference had begun all the way across the city, at the observatory, Wesker and Anassa watched Pamela Isley descend the elevator, both of them smiling darkly to themselves. Today was the day. Wesker had pushed forward his plans to extract Lasetta. He would allow Ivy to make contact, to familiarize herself with Lasetta… and then both of them would be loaded into a truck, and whisked off to a secure base in Europe. Spencer was eagerly anticipating the meeting of both women.

Wesker had to congratulate himself what his accomplishment. Hacking into the League's satellite had been no easy task, and had only been possible thanks to Anassa's aid. Having Bruce make that recording had been even better. Now the city would be united under the flag of their Caped Crusader. Wesker knew that soon, Bruce would have to make his return to the public in full. And that was okay with him. He would never trace Wesker. He would never be free. He could be controlled remotely, that would not be an issue. He and the Cat both. They would be his ultimate agents, his soldiers against Woodrue as the man made his desperate attempt to flee the city. Ivy would be disappointed about Wesker's broken promise about her getting to kill Woodrue herself…but very soon, Poison Ivy would not be feeling a thing other than the fierce electro sharks of artificial suggestion…forever.

"Watch her closely," Anassa whispered to him, squeezing his hand firmly, "and know that something right is at hand." Her mind, however, was filled with everything doubtful, though she tried so very hard not to show it. She could only think of Luna… and what was to come next. Luna had been meant to act as an essential part to Lasetta's enhancement. The Joker… wherever he was hiding, he wanted something from Anassa, and was biding his time, waiting for the first move to be made. She wanted to leave even now and search the city, but Lasetta had to be monitored carefully. She and Albert had sprung the plot early, and Woodrue would be coming back for them soon enough.

So it was that she watched in anguish as Pamela entered the garden.

Pamela found herself collapsing inward at the abundance of life before her, flourishing so strong and sweetly inside of this colossal kingdom of flora. The dirt under her feet felt incredible and inviting. She was home in this place, this temple to Woodrue's greatest creation. The goddess, then, lived inside of this hall of wonders. As she walked, the plants bent down to her will as she called out to them, recognizing her as their superior and sighing, stretching out their green necks and allowing her to caress them with her fingers. Vines slithered about on the ground. Flowers turned to regard her as she passed.

She followed a lightly colored, green path through the heavily hanging brush and the many fruits that decorated the limbs, and found her way into a private grotto. Above, on the walkway outside, the two Weskers studied the scene carefully.

Pamela reached the centerpiece of the magnificently pink and golden grotto. Before her sat a massive clump of magenta vines, writhing, alive, extending out forever in bulk and consistency. All around the great sphere of flora there spewed out deadly green gas. Pamela inhaled the poisonous smog that had killed so many other people and felt a rush of energy and joy as the poison tainted her bloodstream and bonded with her pores. Silently, passionately, she removed the dress and became appropriately naked, falling to her knees before the poison spewing clump.

The vines burst forward at once, opening up like some divine door, and Pamela beheld her goddess. Dark skinned and perfect, she was everything that Wesker had promised. Lasetta's smile was evident upon green lips, and she descended now, her eyes filled with such happiness and love. Lasetta came onto the ground before Pamela, only inches apart from the redheaded Floric, and reached out with a trembling hand.

Pamela allowed the goddess to touch her hair…her neck…her lips…her cheeks… It was as if Lasetta were making absolute sure that Pamela were really were. Pamela's hands planted firmly against the dirt, her head bowing low, idolizing this manifestation of Mother Earth.

"Goddess," she whispered at last, her own voice shaking. "I am your servant."

Lasetta beamed, her teeth flashing. "You're the friend that W told me about," she whispered. "The friend who would come and- and not get hurt by me…" She giggled a little. "It's been really bad, you know, being trapped in this place without being able to touch… but now you're here." Lasetta sat down on and placed her arms upon her knees. Pamela studied the girl so closely. Her skin, her glowing eyes, the deadly poisonous cloud that constantly emitted from her body… and how every time she so much as shifted, the ground would burst to life with brilliant green flowers and black ivy, which would slithered and crawl to join the infinitely growing flora… Lasetta was everything that Pamela had always seen within the goddess Mother Earth.

And now seeing her, Pamela felt her heart go cold. Not for Lasetta, for she had idolized Lasetta back when the woman had only been an idea in her head. Now, the coldness shifted up there, to the walkway. She glared up at Wesker… and suddenly _hated_ him.

Hated him because he had aided in keeping this brilliant goddess locked away.

Hated him because he had helped Woodrue shun Mother Earth from the world.

Hated him because she knew, deep down, that Wesker would never allow Lasetta to be free.

_Fuck that_, she thought, gazing back at Lasetta. _I won't let him_.

"I am a friend," she said at last, taking Lasetta's hands in her own. _Gosh_ how the poison that seared into her skin felt! It was like receiving life, like receiving wisdom! Taking in the Mother's power… she wanted to see that power in true action! "Behold," she told Lasetta.

Pamela reached out an arm, willing and calling out. The plants around the room came to her, beckoned by her very call, desperate to feel the touch of their superior kin! Ivy, vines, flowers, dirt, it all burst freely forward and came to Pamela, entwining her and Lasetta, overwhelming them both and hiding them away from the eyes of the world.

Lasetta was breathing rapidly, eyes wide and face filled with utter joy. "You are my sister," she whispered.

"Your servant…your sister…your daughter…I must be all I can be," Pamela whispered back, placing a kiss upon her goddess's hand. "Lasetta…Mother Earth!"

"What's your name?" Lasetta asked quietly.

"Ivy. Poison Ivy."

Lasetta exhaled deeply. "Poison Ivy… I love it!" She shook with teenage glee. "It's so radical and bad!" She giggled. "You're like a rebel!"

"I am… I can be," Pamela assured her. "I'm going to free you from this place. I'm going to bust you right out!" Her teeth gnashed in the intensity of her promise. She would kill the entire world to see Lasetta free… and perhaps with Lasetta by her side, she could accomplish just that.

Lasetta punched the air happily, crying out and laughing. As she did, explosions happened all around them as massive ivy tendrils erupted from the ground, spiraling them both into the air in a mass of writhing vines. Pamela felt power and divinity descend down upon her with the proximity of such a fine goddess as Lasetta! They rose higher and higher, ascending towards the glass and the fierce stares of the two Weskers. Albert looked sullen; Anassa was nervous.

Pamela had recognized Anassa at once. Valere Frazeer. Memories of that day had come back to her almost at once upon seeing Anassa. The amusement park… and the incident with Donovan Ventimago. That had been the night she had first met the newly improved Alissa Jagner. That had been the day she had seen Valere Frazeer, the wonder acrobat, performing her impossible stunts before the tent-clad audience. Now everything made sense… and in a way, came full circle, confirming Pamela's regards that Mother Earth had a desperate plan for her. Valere Frazeer, the sign of power and impossibility, the woman who had awed her and given her insight to the greater powers… now, with this happy reunion, she knew it had always been meant to be, that it had always tied her back to Wesker and back to Lasetta. While "Valere" was not necessarily a key, she _was_ something more important: a reminder.

The vines carried the two women right up to the glass, and Lasetta gleefully put her hands against the side of the greenhouse and beamed at her two favorite Weskers. "She's everything I hoped she would be. Thank you for this, W!"

Pamela smirked. "I was always meant to see you again," she said to Anassa. "Valere Frazeer, the true wonder woman. This is called destiny: a trace of the unreal, of the unimaginable. Mother Earth predestined this."

"I wish I could agree," Anassa said dryly, smirking herself, "but I have no belief in such entities."

"Believe or not believe, Valere Frazeer, you were destined to see me again. I see now the connection: you were an omen of Wesker."

"If you say so. Your power, your control, it's all so wondrous like Lasetta. I look forward to working with you, now that I've seen what you can do up close."

Pamela tilted her head. "Oh? And what do you mean, dearest? Why don't you tell me? How will the two of us _work_ together?"

Wesker stepped forward. "I wish for you both to take the elevator now. We need to be leaving. The transport truck is prepared now and ready to cart us off to the airport. We'll be in Paris by tomorrow morning."

"Oh, we're going to Paris?" Lasetta looked at Pamela excitedly. "Do you hear that, Ivy? The city of love…" She smiled deeply, and her face began to descend into what Pamela could only describe as reminiscence. She turned in the air and leaned against the glass. "A city for lovers and- and passion-and…and…" But she suddenly stopped talking. Her face had suddenly went dark, and her smile faded. Anassa looked around at her curiously.

"Lasetta?" she asked. Pamela studied her goddess closely.

Lasetta looked puzzled about something, as if something were biting her and she could not quite place her toxic fingers on what. "Of love," she repeated again, frowning in concentration. "There's that word again…"

The vines were starting to lower now. She and Pamela were descending down, down, down into the shadows of the greenhouse. Wesker glared down at them darkly… but he did not speak. He did, however, check his watch impatiently. Ten minutes since the broadcast from Bruce. Woodrue would be making every attempt to return even now. And the other researchers would not stay downstairs forever…

"What is it?" Pamela asked when the two of them had settled down into the shadows once more. In the intense shade, Lasetta's eyes glew so brilliantly… She was the most beautiful thing that Pamela had ever seen.

Lasetta shook her head slowly. "It's… I don't really know, truth be told… but every time that world pops up, I get this odd feeling. A sad feeling… and that feeling usually has something to do with the memories…"

Pamela frowned. _Memories? _"Tell me," she inquired.

"I don't really know myself. But for a while I've been getting all sorts of glimpses. Memories of an older life, of an older time. One of them is about a boy, a boy named Olivero, and me… and we _do_ things…" She grabbed her head and stared intently at the ground. Flowers and vines bloomed and crawled to her to give her comfort. Pamela continued to study Lasetta very, very closely… and as she did, there were realizations that were hitting her, deep, deep down inside of her soul. A fire, a smile, began to glow.

_I understand_, she thought to herself. "You were in love…"

Lasetta beamed at her. "I did love him. That much is clear from the memory. I loved a human boy once…"

"I love many human boys," Pamela replied. "They have so many uses for us."

"But this was different… I feel like something bad happened, Ivy… something bad that took him away from me…"

Pamela was no longer smiling on the inside. It had actually reached her lips. Her lips, glistening and lovely. Her lips, more poisonous than ricin. Her lips, a form of mutated biology, courtesy of one-

"-Jason Woodrue," she finished the thought out loud. Lasetta nodded.

"Daddy… I think Daddy did something…"

"Don't call him that, please, goddess. Jason Woodrue is not deserving of your attention anymore. Lasetta… I imagine he never told you any form of truth, did he?"

Lasetta's head snapped up. "Truth?"

From above, Wesker and Anassa suddenly looked at one another. Now that the two women were not concealed within the thick brush of ivy, the bugs placed around the greenhouse were transmitting proper signals to the earpieces they wore… and oh God how they heard Pamela's words.

"We're leaving now," Wesker hissed. He began to move fast, walking so quickly towards the end of the walkway, Anassa close on his heels.

Down below, Pamela was nodding.

"Do you realize the truth of this entire mess, Lasetta? Of why you were hidden away in this dark little corner of the world? Because you were kidnapped. Kidnapped… and forced into something bigger than you could ever have imagined. Kidnapped by Jason Woodrue… and turned into an experiment."

Lasetta fell backwards, eyes wide, lips trembling. "W-wha-uh… huh…?"

Pamela grinned, glancing upward. As she had predicted, the two Weskers were moving fast on the walkway, heading for the elevator. So they _had_ been listening in. She stood…as did Lasetta.

Pamela exhaled deeply, remembering everything that Wesker had told her about Lasetta Rilee…and her family. "Jacquez Rilee. Oregon Coupe de Grace. Hotels. Maria Rilee. Olivero Fransisco… Olivero Fransisco…"

"…married…"

Pamela and Lasetta both froze. One was frozen in delight…the other in truest wonder.

"..married…" Lasetta said again, looking anguished and grabbing at her head. "What…why…?"

"Married, yes," Pamela agreed. "Olivero was your fiancé, wasn't he? You had a rich family, a rich fiancé, a rich life indeed. The world belonged to you. And then Woodrue came and took you away. Took you away, with W- Wesker's- help."

Lasetta gazed up at the two Weskers, who were quickly stepping into the elevator, their lab coats flying behind them frantically. A burning rage began to grow inside of her.

"What?" she whispered, shaking her head. "W…Wesker…kidnapped me…?"

"He certainly helped, yes," Pamela whispered back. "Anassa, too, I'd wager. They took you and experimented on you. Stole your life away…and made you into this. And you know I'm telling the truth. Talking about your family and about Olivero is reminding you, isn't it? After all, you just said the word "married."

"Oh, no…" Lasetta collapsed onto the ground, grabbing her legs fiercely with shaking hands, eyes wide and filling with green tears. All around them, her plants were going crazy. They whipped about violently and hissed, aggravated that their kin were in such desperate moods. In the distance, the elevator was zooming down. Pamela quickly bent down before Lasetta.

"Your name was Lasetta Rilee, and you had a life before Woodrue took you away and stole everything from you… and now it's up to you to take that life back."

Lasetta looked up at her incredulously, green flooding out of her tear ducts.

"What…w-what do you mean!?" she asked desperately. Ivy, standing above her and smiling darkly, raised her arms.

"Look at this place. Look at your children. You owe it to them…and yourself…to fight back against the people who stole your life away. Start now. Destroy this place. Destroy this place and the people who hurt you, who experimented on you and took everything away! Kill them, Lasetta…" And she offered Lasetta her hand. "I'll help you."

In the distance, the elevator doors burst open, and the two Weskers rushed forward.

"DAMN IT, WOMAN, STOP!" Wesker was roaring, Anassa's face twisted with savage rage. "DON'T TELL HER ANYTHING MORE!"

Lasetta stood up… and she was looking at the two Wesker with an impossible exasperation in her features.

"You did this!?" she roared, her teeth gnashing, the green poison exploding out of her pores in a massive cloud of death. "DID YOU REALLY DO ALL OF THIS!?"

The two Weskers were held at bay as Lasetta's vicious, snarling flora blocked their way and struck violently at them. The cloud was expanding and explanding…

"DID YOU DO THIS!?" Lasetta roared, her eyes and soul suddenly alight with the fire of hatred. "YOU STOLE EVERYTHING FROM ME!?"

Pamela nodded darkly, her fist clenched in triumph. "They all did, Lasetta…they all did…"

Lasetta screamed the most terrible, shrill siren imaginable… and the plants all surged forward at once, intent now on decimating the apprehensive Wesker duo.


	35. Chapter 35

The plants crashed down upon the two Weskers, and earth exploded in every direction, torrent of brown and red and green for a thrasher's paradise. The two scientists vanished within the devastation of barrage… but Lasetta did not relent. A terrible rage had overcome her. A pure, venomous ungodliness. Her eyes were glowing more intensely than before, her body shaking, her poisonous cloud no longer opaque and green but thick and dark, almost black. Her teeth gnashed in terror and were almost fang-like in the shadow that overtook her.

"I remember!" she cried out, and Pamela, on her knees, wide-eyed and beholding, saw that Lasetta's veins had turned black and thick. "I REMEMBER! _I REMEMBER!" _The last two words suddenly trembled all around the room. Pamela shook…excitedly. That voice did not just come from the woman's mouth: it came from the gigantic thrashing vines, the tranquil flowers, the disturbed ivy, the writhing fly-traps and shaking trees. That voice was carried on the wind itself within the room. It was everywhere. She spoke from mouth and plant alike. "_I REMEMBER_," that amplified voice said, "_EVERYTHING. YOU STOLE EVERYTHING! YOU TOOK FROM ME ALL THE THINGS THAT MATTERED!" _

Within the fierce chaos of plants, Anassa Wesker was twisting her body fiercely, flames exploding out of her palms and setting to the attacking flora that entwined her and Albert. The plants were shrieking, the flames blurring, a desperate battle commencing between superhuman and superflora, deadly in the clash as the two Weskers fought with all of their strength to fight the engaging, green death. Lasetta's deadly cloud was descending down upon them now, soon to reap them of life in full. Anassa…had betrayed Lasetta! Lasetta saw that now…she felt that now…

Oh God, no! No! NO! She realized the no almost as soon as she thought of such a concept. Anassa had not betrayed her: Anassa had never been her friend to begin with. She had always, _always_, been an experiment to Anassa, and Anassa had exploited her crippled, wounded mind and fragile mental state.

_NO MORE. _

_ "NO MORE!" _Lasetta screamed, rising with Pamela above the room in her flying vines and looking down upon the people who had turned her into a project. Albert Wesker was flying over the greenery, punching and slicing his way through the thick green with a deadly combat knife, intent on reaching Anassa, who was throwing handfuls of fire in every direction. For one second, his horrorstruck, red eyes flashed in her direction, his favorite sunglasses lost in the grand foliage that was trying to kill him… and then those demon eyes found the descending gas.

Adrenaline overtook the man, and he began to blast his way through the green with bulldozing intent alone, his body mass striking forward with deadly efficiency and cutting tightly through the bulk of death. He grabbed Anassa, who was gazing up at Anassa with a mixed expression fear, anger and desperation.

Just as the gas descended, the two of them were moving away, speeding in a great blur for the elevator doors. Pamela, calling out to the plants that Lasetta manipulated, felt a deep connection grow within her, her chlorokinetic power commanding and receiving. The massive vines snaked their way after the two retreating Weskers and slammed into the elevator at Pamela's mental command, decimating the thing and rendering it useless.

Wesker, however, leapt high into the air, landing cat-like upon the flaying vines and running up their green length, Anassa barely conscious in his arms. One of those thick vines had struck her in the head, Pamela saw, and the woman was bleeding fire. Albert Wesker leapt from flailing vine to flailing vine each time they descended with their great speed and bulk to smash he and Anassa, and when he had put on a great spurt of speed, he propelled himself into the highest point of the greenhouse. That adrenaline worked wonders with his already superior body, and the two Weskers smashed through the topside of the greenhouse, raining glass down in every direction as they landed upon the walkway, Anassa now completely out in her lover's arms.

Wesker did not look back as he ran for the stairway. Within him, an unholy rage was burning. He had failed. He had failed and it would cost so many so much… Bringing Pamela Isley here had been his greatest failure. She had sabotaged everything.

Lasetta watched the two Weskers vanished through the door to the stairway, and her shaking fist shook so violently. Her plants were screaming. She was screaming. Even Pamela cowered within her dark, terrible shadow, overwhelmed with a fine hybrid of worship and fear. Lasetta would not let them escape! She could not let them escape! They had to die! They had to pay for what they had done to her! And they _would_ pay dearly!

"It's time to ascend!" she hissed terribly, stretching out an arm and giving her own powerful, mental command. "IT'S TIME TO ASCEND!"

Pamela Isley nearly fainted. The plants, the entire existence of the greenhouse, was ascending so beautifully, the earth itself alive and filled to the brim. The massive tendrils smashed through the remaining glass of the greenhouse, raining shards down upon them both that would have ripped them to shreds, but Lasetta commanded more and more of those thick vines to cover them as they rose, rose, rose to the Heavens above. Through the destroyed greenhouse, Lasetta breathed in the air that she had longed for. The air outside of the containment that she had for so long been cooped away inside of. Her poisonous smog had utterly filled the massive chamber now, and was travelling through the air ducts, massing in heavy, deadly quantities. The researchers down below would not stand a chance. Even as they rose, her flora was out of control, overtaking the entire building, breaking through walls, ventilation shafts and rafters. Nature had begun its conquest.

**Over a year earlier…**

"My offer is simple," Woodrue said as he sipped the black tea calmly and politely. On either side of him, Pamela and Alissa were stirring feebly, but still far from awakening. "I'll take funding for the final preparations in Oregon, and in exchange, I provide you with a sample kit of the Leviathan. In addition, payments will be returned within the month with a 15% percent interest rate per week."

The Joker, swinging backwards and forwards on the tire swing that hug from the ceiling, a noose tied neatly around his neck as he swung dangerously, listened with great interest. "Go on, babe."

Woodrue frowned. "In addition, I shall supply you with thirty perfected specimens from the Floric transmutation drone project."

"In English, love!" the Joker cried, spinning and spinning around, tightening the noose around his neck to a terribly constrictive hold. Patches of blood red appeared through his white skin. "Peualezz…"

Woodrue was up in an instant, his knife flashing in hand. The rope was severed at once, both noose and swing, and the Joker went tumbling into a mess upon the wood. He hit the mahogany hard and stared up, dumbfounded, at Woodrue, who placed a foot upon the Joker's chest and continued in his pleasant voice, still sipping his tea, "In English, then? Very well: Floric. Trans. Mutation. Drone. Project." He tipped the mug over and spilled the remainder of the tea onto the Joker's face. He then ventured back to the couch, leaving the clown lying there, shaking with absolute, terrible, monstrous fury.

The Joker was on his feet at once, soaked from the tea and furiously fuming. Woodrue retook his seat and smiled pleasantly at the clown. "May we continue?" he asked quietly.

The Joker reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver .44. It was placed against Woodrue's temple in an instant.

"News flash!" the Joker snapped. "I'M the one playing host, and I'M the one holding the gun now. Do you want to apologize, Mr. Woodrue!?"

Woodrue smiled. "Sure, why not. I'm quite sorry, Joker, that you're so…pathetic." He gestured at one of the windows. "Out there, a mound of dead at my hand. Ask me, Joker, how far I'm willing to go and what I am capable of."

The Joker had had enough of this man and his stupid tricks. The magnum fired off at once, and Woodrue's head exploded… revealing the mass of intense green underneath. The jade, organic material splattered all over the room, covering Pamela and Alissa, who both jerked in their still powerful slumber. The Joker stared, wild-eyed and disbelieving.

"That's it?"

"Not quite." The voice came from behind Joker, who spun around at once… but the gun was already slipping out of his hand as the real Woodrue disarmed him, and turned the barrel of the weapon onto the clown. The Joker stared in disbelief at this sudden apparition of the man that he had just murdered… and then a grin of utter delight spread across his face. He exploded in a joyful praise, laughter of pleasure and satisfaction, and clapped Woodrue congratulatory upon the shoulder.

"WELL DONE!" he boomed.

Suddenly the door exploded and Harley, followed by several of the Joker's thugs, burst into the scene. Guns raised at once, knives flashed, but the Joker held up a hand, still beaming at the good doctor. "Now, now, ladies and gentlemen, that was only the first trick! For his second, he will, in good graces, kindly be our beneficiary!" He clapped his hands together and glanced over at his clowns. "Harley, dear, come in and join us. The rest of you skedaddle…except for Lumpy. Lumpy, go and fetch three of the cases from the Green Closet!"

Lumpy, a fat, ogre-like clown in dark green, groaned loudly and turned around, bumbling off into the darkness. Harley ran forward, quickly grabbing the Joker and looking wildly around at Woodrue, who offered the clown his gun back. The Joker took it with glee, and grinned all about the room. His clowns were still ogling… and so the Joker raised the gun.

_BOOM! _The clown at the front of the group received his death with quite an impact, and went flying away at once, blood splattering everywhere, and the other clowns took the sign to scatter. They retreated in intense haste, running for the cover of darkness that could perhaps keep them safe for another day. Not likely, though.

The Joker and Harley both looked down at the broken corpse of their beloved tire swing, and the clown prince sighed. "We need a new crib, homie…" he muttered in disgust, pocketing his gun. "The 411 isn't fizzle shizzle, what not and- and-…" He giggled. "Damn, can't even present proper speech etiquette." He turned to face Woodrue. "Mr. Woodrue… you won't make me regret this, will you?" His voice was suddenly very dark, very rough and very low. None of the mirth remained it.

Woodrue nodded. "Why not?"

The Joker shook his head. "I'm being…serious." Harley gasped.

Woodrue smirked. "Do you even remember what it's like to be serious, Mr. Joker? Do you even remember the mental and spiritual constructs that dictate the necessity of seriousness, somewhere deep down in that chaotic paradise you call a mind?"

The Joker gazed at the window. "Not really, I suppose." He chuckled softly. "I feel a laugh every time it's not needed, every time it is… But _this_ that you've offered me: this is religious!" He beamed. "Very religious…structured, even…"

"And it will help you bring exquisite hell to the people of your playground," Woodrue finished for him, gesturing out to the city outside. "What more does a man need to know?"

"You're a rich man," the Joker contested. "Why come to me for money?"

"The money is nearly a bonus. What I'm really benefiting from you are the test subjects and influence. You have handier means of collection. The money will simply cover all traces of-"

_BOOM! _Woodrue stopped abruptly. In the distance, an explosion. No one in the room had any idea of where it had come from or why. It just did. He continued. "-of our activities when laundered to the right beneficiaries. I will come calling within a fortnight to-"

_BOOM!_ Another explosion…this one louder and closer. Harley skipped merrily to the windows, and peeked out excitedly through the glass. "Whoever's out there is making all sorts of fun noises, Mistah J," she cooed. "Wanna go see?"

"Soon, dear, soon. Tonight's a night of celebration after all!" the Joker cried. From the doorway, Lumpy was returning. In his arms were three thick, silver cases. He laid them in front of Woodrue and opened them without a word. The bills within almost seemed to glow with ravenously green delight, a leprechaun's hold. Woodrue did not touch the money or give it more than second's glance, though, but his attention fell fully upon the Joker.

"Think about the future, Joker," he said. "Consider many things whilst pondering the delicacies of Gotham's degradation. I want you to envision, for a moment, all hell breaking so loose that it is beyond even your own control. Will you be able to handle it when the time comes?" He peered inquiringly at the clown, awaiting a response. The Joker considered his words carefully, doing a little tap dance as he did, and then turned back to face Woodrue.

"It's like peeing on an electric fence, I'd say," came the smooth, quiet reply. But those eyes beamed so brightly at the doctor. "Satisfying as hell in any form."

Woodrue nodded. "Good man," he whispered back. "I'll be in contact."

And ten minutes later, Jason Woodrue was on his way back to his home, the two women still stirring on the seat. He was tired, he had to admit, but not altogether bothered. Tonight had gone as well as he had hoped it would. With the Joker's support, there would come a time, in the future, when he would be able to use Gotham City as a testing ground for many marvelous things. He would see to it that, in the end, it was he, Jason Woodrue, who had the final laugh in the grand scheme of things.

_Pampadora… I'll make you proud. _

"I will definitely make you proud," Pamela whispered to Lasetta as they hovered in the air before the brilliant Gotham day. The sun beamed happily down upon them as the entirety of the observatory began to collapse under the pressure of the constricting, elephantine vines. About two hundred feet below, the two Weskers were making their way for the trucks, Anassa looking up at the two Florics intensely. "Come on… let's kill them, Lasetta."

Lasetta, her fingers curved into her own personal claw-like threats, nodded savagely. "It's for the best," she whispered, more to herself than Pamela, "because I remember…"

She remembered everything indeed. Her name was Lasetta Rilee. Her family had been rich and powerful. Her father had manned great hotels, had put a fortune into the entertainment and leisure industry, had provided she, her mother and cousins with homes around the world. She had played band in high school, the trumpet. During her freshmen year of college, not too long before Woodrue had taken her away, she had joined a choir with The Gothamation League. She had loved Olivero… and she had murdered Olivero…as she had murdered her family and her servants….all because Woodrue had warped her mind and forced her to do so. Woodrue, who had taken away her life, with his servants Anassa and Albert…

Lasetta and Pamela rushed through the air, propelled by the force of their great loves, the flora, and Lasetta's fury was absolute and deadly: as the gas from her body began to saturate the air, thorns exploded out of many green pods, raining down upon the trucks and the few soldiers assembled there. The two Weskers took cover behind the vehicle that had been used to transport Pamela, who landed lightly upon the concrete. She gazed about, a new sense of magnificence within her altered perspective on life. Alpha 32 and his friend were standing close by, guns raised, helmets removed. A cigarette fell limply from 32's mouth. Now Pamela could see that his hair was fair and his skin tan. His friend was older, but no less attractive with his dark bangs and shadowy eyes. But they needed green to their coloration.

Even as they took precise aim, Pamela manipulated the vines before her and sent them forward. They entwined the two soldiers at once, pulling them into the air as they screamed, their weapons falling from their hands out of shock.

_THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! _Again and again, the vines fiercely slapped and slapped at their heads, knocking their faces left and right, dazing them, bloodying them… Pamela flexed her body, feeling so powerful again, feeling so _deadly_. A lump formed within her, fiery and inviting. Uprising had come! She manipulated the plants and swung the two soldiers about, the vines her arms in this moment, an extension of her limbs!

Quickly, Pamela pulled them back towards her, the useless soldiers flying forward with deathly haste. 32 lowered roughly into her hands as she cupped his cheeks and gazed longingly into his eyes.

Her lips parted. "Remember when I told you that I'd murder you?" she whispered to him, her green mouth forming into a seductive smile. Lasetta watched on. 32 began to cry out, but he was immediately silenced, for the final time, as Pamela forced her murderous kiss onto him. He died quite horribly and quickly after she pulled away, breathing and speaking an impossibility. Even as his body hung limply and green, his swollen, jade-colored tongue hanging out of his mouth in a comical way, Pamela seized the other guard and killed him in the same fashion, her foot rising in the romance of it all.

She allowed the vines to drop their poisoned corpses at Lasetta's feet. Her deadly cloud overtook them at once, and vicious plants began to grow from their bodies. Pamela stretched out her arms, devious in her joy, laughing bitterly. "I did promise," she sighed.

Lasetta was intrigued… and startled. "That was a romantic gesture," she said softly.

"Love can hurt. I can kill." Pamela shrugged. "I imagine you could do far worse. Wanna see for yourself?" Pamela raised her arms and forced one of the massive tendrils to slam its way into the truck behind which the two Weskers had taken cover. The truck went spiraling away through the air, leaving the two of them clearly open in the field of Lasetta's vision. "Show me how much so."

When Lasetta saw Anassa, she went berserk once more. Stepping over the bodies of Pamela's victims, the two Florics pressed the attack, an army of green exploding all around them, a hailstorm of rubble from the damaged observatory annihilating the sidewalk behind.

Anassa bent down and threw out her arms. Flames catapulted in a wide brim of waves, searing the air and striking the plants. Pamela cried out, feeling the pain of her children as they were burned, and her anger created a most fierce form of adrenaline, empowering her dangerous, relentless strikes. The ground around Anassa exploded, and Albert called out to her as the female Wesker was sent flying into the air. Before Anassa could regain herself, Lasetta motioned with her arms, feeling the calls of her children, and one massive, tree-like vine slammed into Anassa's stomach. The woman went flying, flying, flying away towards the ocean on the other side of the observatory. Albert went after her, forgetting all about the two Florics in his haste to save his fellow researcher.

Lasetta watched them both fade away into the distance, watched as Anassa slammed into the ocean, swallowed up by the water, watched as Albert leapt into the blue after her. When they had gone, Lasetta turned away from the ocean. Turned away from Pamela, away from the destroyed facility. Her gaze went to the rest of the city. She studied the towering skyscrapers, the beautiful manors, the glassy offices and the smooth roads. All of it was a metropolis, a world that she was seeing anew, with improved eyes and improved focus.

She hated it. She hated all of it. Hated every last inch of it.

"It disgusts me," she whispered to herself, as the destruction around her and Pamela burned and collapsed into piles of scraps. In the distance, sirens were going off. Soon, there would be a great multitude of cops and other special forces. Pamela, sensing all of this danger, grabbed at Lasetta's hand in earnest.

"We have to leave, goddess," she whispered urgently back. "Now! We can't let them find you yet!"

Lasetta blinked back green tears at her new redheaded friend. "What _are_ you!?"

"What am…I?"

"What are you? What are you really? Doesn't this world…disgust you?"

"All of it," Pamela promised her intently. "Every scrap bit of it, I assure you!"

"It needs to be burned, doesn't it? All of it… all of it needs to be burned…"

"We can do that! We can do that, I swear! We _will_ do that! But not if the police show up and-"

Lasetta held her hand against Pamela's mouth, silencing her. Pamela felt faint almost immediately, but not from the deadly poison that was practically pouring into her body at Lasetta's touch: it was from the adoration of the goddess's touch itself.

"I want to destroy it," she whispered as more and more tears fell, flooding onto Pamela's own skin. "I want to decimate it… this city…these plants… all of it…"

Pamela blinked rapidly, her eyes widening. _These plants? _

Pulling away, she replied, "Goddess?"

"Look at all of it!" Lasetta screamed suddenly, gesturing violently at the mass of flora before them, as the sirens got louder and louder. "LOOK AT ALL OF IT!" The vines exploded at her fury, but she desperately pushed them away, a look of disgust upon her face. "I…I hate them! I hate all of them! They disgust me!" A long, smooth green tendril sought out her touch, but Lasetta slapped it away. As she did, Pamela felt anger and pain rise within her. What was the goddess doing!?

"These things…are death…" Lasetta hissed, backing away from the flora that desperately followed her, desperately desired their mother's touch. "These things… destroyed me…" She cast a miserable, terrible glance at Pamela, shaking her head as she began to sob. "I c-can't do it! I can't love them!" She grabbed her hair furiously and pulled at it. "ALL OF IT! ALL OF THESE THINGS! THEY ALL NEED TO DIE!"

"These are your children! Our children!" Pamela cried desperately, her hands shaking as she reached out for the thriving flora. "We're their mothers!"

"_You're _their mothers!" Lasetta shot back, stepping further and further away. "No, no, no! I don't want them! I don't want them at all! I hate them!" She gazed at the sky. "I hate…Woodrue… I hate what he's done to me! What he's taken from me! I'm going to find him… I'm going to take everything from him! I swear it!" And Lasetta turned away from Pamela, sprinting as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Pamela, her heart racing, put on a spurt of speed and desperately tried to follow. However, in the next moment, those very plants that Lasetta claimed to hate suddenly leapt into the air after their mistress, and the dark-skinned, mass weapon of biological genocide was swept into the air itself, propelled forward towards the heart of the grand city before her…


	36. Chapter 36

** Over a year earlier…**

Her boots were unnaturally loud in the corridor. _CLOP CLOP CLOP_ they sang. God how she hated that sound. But it would matter little soon. Very, very soon, shoes, clothing, all the natural expectations for the public would be figments of the past. She stopped about halfway in the middle of the corridor, examining the walls carefully. Various science awards dotted the **Special Recognitions** hallway, her name on several of them. Her old name, anyway. Pamela Isley was hardly fitting of those awards now that she looked through better eyes. Though, of course, this private thought was merely only half reinforced. Over time, she had begun to question her right to call herself Poison Ivy. After all, she was still human…

But not for long. Not after tonight.

_"Meet me at the house at 8 p.m. sharp. Tonight is the night"_, the text message had told her. Simple words, but the most important ever brought her way. The night she had been waiting for, dreaming of… It was just getting seven now, and Pamela Isley was walking along the darkened, empty halls of several buildings across the university's large campus. Each building had become significantly less important as each day faded. English classes, science seminars, math lectures… none of these things mattered anymore. None of them. They had prepared her, and now she was leaving them behind. Nevertheless, she had wanted to revisit them one-last-time.

Her beautiful face peered back at her from some of the pictured frames. The girl there, her beam was genuine, but in a way, she had passed away. That girl was a murderer, unknown to all others but two, and several of her own classmates had met their demises to her and her experiments. That girl who beamed back at her from behind the thin sheet of glass… she had transformed on the inside. All that was left was to ensure the transformation on the outside. Pamela brushed one green gloved hand across that girl's face, smiling sadly at the girl that she had once been.

Then, looking left and looking right, sure that this building was abandoned and would be until late Sunday night, she raised her hands, balled them into fists, and slammed them fiercely into the awards and pictures. The Pamela Isley behind the glass shattered, destroyed by the one on the other side, and the other science winners followed her suit. She punched and scraped, pulled and upended. Glass, paper and wood went flying everywhere, littering into a great pile at her feet.

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, exhilarated by her vandalism. Her red hair hung limply over her face, concealing her crazed grin.

"Felt good," she breathed, straightening up and brushing her hands back with her gloves. Making sure to trod over the broken glass and the photos of her face, she left the great mess where it was and exited through a side door and out into the winter night.

On either side of her, Donovan Ventimago and Archibald Helan walked with her. She smiled softly at them both, kissing them both on their cheeks. Both were nude and as they had been at their deaths: poisoned, mutilated, and beautiful.

"You want to make a real fuss?" Archie asked her excitedly. "Set that fucking sorority on fire. You know, the one with the eagle banners?"

"No, man!" Donovan chuckled. "She should burn the fucking police station down. Campus police, ya know! Burn all those fuckwads inside! The ones that got paid off and let Otto Rock and us get away Scott free!"

Pamela tilted her head as they walked down a concrete path towards a busy water fountain in the middle of campus. The fountain had many angels spraying water-filled trumpets. "I could destroy this entire campus with the power that Woodrue will give me," she told the two apparitions, settling herself down onto the edge of the fountain. Off to her left, on the other side of the fountain, two women were making out fiercely, locked in desperate passion, unaware that she was sitting across from them…though they probably would not have cared. Privacy meant nothing to these bastards. "I suppose, given the right amount of time," Pamela continued, reaching into her long, flowing green coat and pulling out a very sharp switchblade, "I could come back and annihilate every building…every person….everything…" She gazed at the knife in her hand. "Everything destroyed," she whispered to it.

"That sounds like a plan," the knife whispered back to her in a hissing voice.

Without a word, but with plenty of cause, Pamela jumped to her feet and sprinted around the fountain. She threw herself at the passionate women and pushed them into the grass, leaping upon their backs and sinking the knife into one of the blonde heads before her. The other tried to fight, but Pamela had oodles of adrenaline, and, withdrawing the knife from her first victim, slashed the throat of the second. Mild screams were cut short as Pamela overpowered them both and slayed them in the privacy of the dark…

She stabbed and she stabbed and she stabbed forever. By the time she stopped stabbing, their blood was absolutely flowing with magnificent, broken dam-like quality. Hardly breathing, quite bored, Pamela stood up silently and wiped the blood off of the knife onto her dark jacket. She barely gave her victims a second glance as she walked away into the darkness once more, Donovan and Archie following closely behind.

She checked the time. 7:09. Oh, look at that. Still thirty minutes before she needed to take off. The three of them made their way through a grotto near the fountain and into the darkness of the shadow of the math building. Lights were on in the upstairs classrooms. Weekend studiers, the worst. She positively kicked the doors to the building open with a dark, bored expression. The lobby of the building with dimly lit and packed with vending machine, with a single staircase to the left leading up to the study halls where she had seen the light. She could not risk it. She had not realized how close she had been to this building at that fountain…

But when she peered into the study halls, the two young men she found were busying themselves with their noses practically in their textbooks. She entered the room without a word.

One of them looked up at her, and jerked his head upward in a sort of street salute, universal for "What's up?" without actually having to say it. She returned it, her expression still dead as she approached them both. As she did, she glanced up through the windows. The bodies of the murdered girls could be seen in the darkness some way ahead. Smiling, glad for the excuse, she bent down before the man who had acknowledged her. Her gloved hand slid down the textbook he read, and he looked at her in aggravation.

"What?" he snapped.

Pamela tilted her head. Then, her gloved hands wrapped around his cheeks and she pulled his face forward. The toxic lipstick she wore paralyzed him at once, cutting his air off and permeating his lips. Pamela moaned sensually, kissing him deeply and passionately, and the man's friend beamed over at them, grinning widely at the action his friend was getting… until he saw that his friend's body had started to spasm.

"Hey, what the f-" But Pamela pushed her victim aside, slamming him into the table, where he began to choke to death, and threw herself on top of the other. The chair flipped over and the two of them crashed into the floor, but Pamela sat atop him, cowgirl style and excited, and sunk the knife two, three, four times into his neck and head. He struggled to throw her off but fell still after the second stab to the head.

Leaving the stab victim in his pool of blood, she stood up and turned back to her first victim in this room. He was gagging, vomiting green all over the table top, clutching his throat in terror as his skin turned pale. She sat down on a chair across from him and gazed at him dreamily with the deepest smile, watching him die and not moving from the room until he did.

Covered in blood, breathing heavily and overjoyed that she had gotten to have fun before meeting with Woodrue, she silently went downstairs into the basement level. The actual door that led into the boiler room, however, was locked. Silently, Pamela turned and knocked on the janitor's office nearby. Not an answer. Not a light on inside. Shrugging, she raised her arms, balling her hands together into a clumpy fist, and threw her entire force against the glass of the door. The door window smashed, cutting into Pamela's gloves and into her. She grinned at the pain she felt. Picking little shards absentmindedly from her skin, she carved a little heart into her forearm, delighted at how her blood flowed, how it looked like a bleeding heart now. Silently, not quite there, she cut and cut and cut into her skin in the middle of the little heart until her blood was so thick that it looked like the heart was filled in.

Dropping the shard of glass, eyes wide, she moved like a ghost, reaching through the window, unlocking the door, still not exactly comprehending that she was really there at all. The janitor had left the basement keys on a hook behind the door. Before she left, she smashed the office up, destroying his own framed photos, desk décor, awards and computer… she annihilated that fucking room for this fucking school on this fucking continent… And still, was she even _aware_ that she had done such a thing at all?

The basement was an eerie, deathly place, a foul-smelling boiler chamber that hosted a wide variety of supplies. Gas valves and propane tanks were neatly aligned along one wall in rows of three. Absentmindedly, risking all life and existence as she did it, she tipped them over, one at a time, unstoppering the valves and letting the wonderful gases spew out their hissy pleasures, turning the boiler on and spilling cleaning chemicals all over the place. When she reached the top of the stairs, she took a lighter out of her pocket, a gift from Alissa, and cut a strip of her own jacket away. The strip was set aflame within a few minutes, and she tossed it down into the darkness, moving quickly away, through the halls and out of the building.

Once outside, she began to run. And run. And run.

She never heard the explosion go off, but when she had finally begun the drive out of her apartment's yard, her own home set aflame by her hand, her plants safely removed and stored in the backseat, she sped off onto the highway and saw the blazing inferno that had been the math building in the rear view mirror. And it gave her the deepest smile. Burn the world away. Burn it all away.

Whispering her final goodbye to the campus and to her home, Pamela sped off into the night. As she drove, she pulled out a vial from her purse and held it up before her. Inside, a glistening purple substance. She had been taking her antidote nightly for two months now, slowly perfecting her immune system. Tonight was the night she would show Woodrue her ultimate achievement, and he would have no choice but to praise her. The serum that would give her full immunity to some of life's nastier (and more beautiful) weapons…

Woodrue was waiting for her outside of his home. She pulled into his driveway with ten minutes to deadline, and he looked very pleased with her. Always on time, her favorite student. Pamela slammed the door fiercely behind her, grinning darkly at her lover/teacher. Having made sure the last of the toxic lipstick had been wiped away from her lips, she embraced him. Naturally, in her passion, she had forgotten that there didn't seem to be a poison yet that could harm him. Her experiment with the anti-toxin serum had, in part, been her attempt to unlock his secrets. She felt that she was close to cracking them, too.

"This is a special night," Woodrue told her when she pulled away from him, straightening his askew glasses and wiping her saliva away. "The most important night of your life."

Pamela grinned, reaching for him again… but as she did, something very fast and very loud suddenly blasted overhead. She and Woodrue jumped, spinning around and gazing into the sky. The black jet sailed across the sky, fast as lightning, black as death. They saw the burning blue light of the flaming tailpipe blurring into the distance as the jet blasted in the direction of campus. Woodrue considered the vehicle with interest.

"Batman is on the hunt for someone this night. As he is every night, it seems." He chuckled. "I wonder who."

Pamela smiled to herself. "I killed four people tonight," she whispered to him, holding his hand and squeezing it gently. She gazed into his wide eyes and loved him. "I just…couldn't control myself…I couldn't control myself at all, it was like breathing. It just happened… and then I…I burned down the math building." She shakily laughed, grinning madly at him. "I burned it down and now it's going to be ash!" She giggled and giggled, doubling over in laughter. Woodrue stared and stared, his expression blank with shock. "Oh, my goodness, Jason… I can't stop myself anymore. I can't stop myself at all. It just keeps biting and biting and biting and there' just-no-end-to-it." She stamped her boot down hard. "This city deserves to burn. All of it. Every bit of it."

Woodrue continued to stare, pale and considerably lower in terms of durability. His knees buckled, and he quickly had to straighten himself, wincing. She was gazing longingly at the stars, and at the treetops silhouetted against the night sky. Woodrue, meanwhile, looking very grave, was nodding silently to himself, his eyes narrowed. So that was how it had to be, then.

"Come inside, Poison Ivy," he whispered to her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Come inside, now. There is work to do."

She followed him, happily and trembling, and he bolted the door tightly behind them. He motioned for her to go into the living room, and when she had disappeared through the door, whispering some prayer to Mother Earth under her breath, Woodrue pulled out his cellular.

A phone call. _Ring ring_. God what a phone call, too. He himself trembled now. It had been a mere three days since his last call, but it seemed like three years.

"Yes…" The voice that answered him was the most terrible voice. High, raspy, inhuman, a gurgle of desolate normality.

"I-It's time," he managed to say aloud, shaking hard, fighting back the barrage of laughter that threatened to explode out of him. "It's happening tonight."

"Too long have we waited for this," the raspy voice hissed on the other end. "Far too long."

"Yes, we have… it won't take long, I swear it. I have W and Chancey on standby. They've an armored truck. They await my call. By morning, we'll be well out of Gotham City limits. Well on to the future."

"What of the corpse?"

Woodrue beamed at the phone. "They're going to be tracing it back to me soon enough. I don't have anything to hide at this point. I'll let them have it."

"Are you sure that is wise?"

"The corpse will be insignificant. Useless. I'd use a gun, but… I do want to test the power of the machine. I've already received an order from Bangkok and another from Denmark. I'll be recording. They'll get to see what their money will obtain for them."

"Very well. I suppose, given the length of the relationship. Make it a good death. I await you, my love."

"The chopper…is it suitable?"

"For now. I would have them reach the airport soon. A jet will benefit my body so much more."

"I promise I will do everything I can to comfort you, love. Our time has come."

"I'll be eagerly waiting. I won't keep you."

When the phone hung up, Woodrue nearly collapsed to his knees, wiping tears of joy from his eyes. All of Pamela's research was downstairs in the main lab. He had everything he needed to perfect the plant samples and begin the testing stages for the new viral agents. She had been such a good girl. But there was still an obstacle. One last thing to do.

When he stepped into the living room, Pamela whispered his name. She lay nude and beautiful, stretched across the lavish couch, crimson hair cascading over perfect breasts, little pink flowers in her hair. He stopped dead in his tracks, examining the specimen, smelling the powerful perfume that she emitted and feeling his blood warming. She smiled suggestively at him… and he smiled back.

"Care to give the old me a proper goodbye?" was her pitch.

He simply gave her a nod, his consumerist interest a reflection of the simple phrase: _What the hell. _

Woodrue descended, fully intent on giving Pamela Isley a proper, ultimate farewell…forever. He was never going to see her again, after all. She felt warm tonight, and it was nothing to do with the friction: it was everything to do with the anticipation of what was coming, an idea shared by both, though with different outcomes tied to the hopes. He pacified her anxiety with raw sex, chipping away the seconds in his mind that were slowly, slowly ticking towards destiny. One last exposure to Poison Ivy.

Afterwards, they lay by the fireplace, empty but nonetheless a mark of romance. The warmth made fire meaningless. She hurt, clawing at the carpet, as Woodrue gazed at the ceiling, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Police sirens were singing in the distance. He supposed things had to progress.

"Ivy…"

"Yes?"

"Enter the machine."

He helped her to her feet, guiding her to the glass chamber that she had expressed interest in once, and now would come to know for the better. Sitting inside the giant tank, he helped her settle herself onto the leather bed, strapping her wrists and ankles tightly. She moaned softly.

"We've never taken it to this level," she whispered. Woodrue smirked. Even at the threshold of the future, she still had time to make jokes. And she deserved nothing less. This was her moment, her defining time. He wanted her to enjoy every second that was left. "Jason, love, in all seriousness: I have something I want to show you. Something I've been keeping secret. A surprise."

"Is that right?" Woodrue said softly, fumbling around with the needle-ended tubes and twisting small nodes on each, resounding in a faint little _clicks_.

"A small experiment I've been wanting to bring further."

"No worries, Ivy. I swear to you, after this is all over, your research will be my life's obsession. But you must prepare yourself for the transformation. Your body and the Floric virus…will become one tonight." He stroked her cheek very lovingly, and tears filled her eyes.

"I'm…so happy," she whispered to him, her lips trembling. "R-really…I am…"

"As am I…"

"Thank you, Jason, for all of this. Thank you for giving me the future."

"You've helped me secure it for you, Ivy. You've opened up doors." He held up one needled before her. "Now, take a breath." She did so, closing her eyes, and she only winced slightly as he settled the little needle into her vein. She had felt so much pain before this night. Needles meant nothing anymore. He inserted one after another, hitting several points along her arms, feet, hands and neck, a mad nightmare of acupuncture. All the while, she moved little, teeth gritted, relishing what the pain meant, and therefore relishing the pain.

"It's time," he whispered to her, sure that she was ready. He turned slightly, smiling at the little camcorder sitting on the coffee table across from the tank. Pamela noticed it too.

"A camera?"

"Yes, Ivy. A camera." He kissed her forehead, and stepped away.

"What…for…?" She was feeling lightheaded.

Woodrue stood for a moment. To her, he was a stature, lost in the deepest form of contemplation, drumming fingers lightly at the sides of his naked form. Then, slowly, he turned to face her.

"For the clients."

Pamela's eyes widened. "C-clients?"

Woodrue nodded. "Pamela… oh Pamela…"

"Don't call me that! What do you mean…clients…?"

Woodrue walked over to the console built into the side of the tank, and fumbled with a switch. Though Pamela did not know it, she felt it. The effect of the light anesthetic. The ability to move…disabled.

"I have clients," Woodrue said, "across the world interested in the work of both me and Pampadora. That work will lay down countless foundations as we slowly build New Eden up. But to build it up, money is essential. This device, this tank of transformation that you are inside of… I created it myself, based on the original blueprints of a gas chamber prototype, a draft dismissed by the original Federal Department of Criminal Justice. I modified the original design and designed it for an effective assimilator of organic material, as well as an emitter. I have a special clientele interested in such a device. I want them to see what this machine is capable of."

"Capable…of…" Pamela struggled weakly, suddenly…scared. "You mean…there are others…who want to make Florics?"

"Others who want to make Florics? Hardly, Pamela. Hardly. If only… no, no, this device is not suited to proper transformative procedures. No… this device is a mere tool of execution. A DNA extractors, naturally, but merely a glorified gas chamber."

"W-what!?" Pamela struggled against the straps… and then remembered that she could not move. She stared, wide-eyed and terrified at Woodrue, who looked very sad.

"Poor Alissa. She'll never know what happened to dear Pamela Isley. Once we've left town, we'll deal with her memories. Her mind needs further help. We'll reset her. Alissa is the future, after all."

"A-Alissa!? But…what about me!?"

Now Woodrue looked more than sad: he looked downright heartbroken. "You failed me," Woodrue said. "You failed me, Pamela Isley. You were too out of control. Too lost in your wild game of Venus fly trap and flies. Unable to control your vigilant crusade, you have become a liability to the uprising of New Eden."

"No!"

"You have decided body count is more important than tact-"

"Shut up!" Pamela sobbed.

Woodrue shook his head. "You're so lost in your obsession, so adamant about this unending crusade of yours that you cannot see beyond the destruction you crave so highly to cause. I'm removing you as a liability to the uprising. You are not suited to be given responsibility over our perfect world."

"JASON!" Pamela cried, sobbing, teeth gnashing as she struggled and struggled to make her body fight through the paralysis. But Woodrue merely pressed a button on the console.

"Farewell, Pamela."

And suddenly, pain like no other. Death. It was death. Liquefied death. From the pumping system, a viscous green fluid flowed through the tubes and entered her bloodstream through the injections. Simultaneously, a faint, blue-green gas began to pour in from a ventilator installed at the back.

Pamela Isley was screaming. She was screaming like she had never screamed before, trapped inside of the most fiery, deathly pain, an unimaginable hell within her body that mimicked the kiss of flame with the strangulation of needles. Her veins burned. Her organs burned. Her lips burned. Her eyes burned. God, everything burned! Burning, burning, burning….dying… She choked. Gagged on poison. Poison was bubbling in her mouth, bleeding out of her nose and ears and practically every pore of her body, the toxic gas strangling her… Chemicals were imploding within her body, sending electrical shockwaves through her nerves and directly into her brain.

And then Pamela Isley became still. Pamela Isley was dead.


End file.
